


This thing of darkness

by maggiedragon



Series: This Thing of Darkness [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Difference, Canon Continuation, Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8755456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiedragon/pseuds/maggiedragon
Summary: Percival Graves knew he would have to pick up the pieces that Gellert Grindelwald had left of his life. He didn’t expect Credence Barebone to be one of those pieces.





	1. Imperius

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [This thing of darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8952142) by [hana0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hana0/pseuds/hana0)



> CN: imprisonment, canon-typical violence, minor incidences of cursing. 
> 
> Yes, some of these spells are original:  
> Scindere (passive imperative): Be cut/be rent  
> Tepeo: I warm/I am warm.
> 
> Next chapter soon-- I have a backlog while I was waiting for my ao3 invite!

In the last semester of the Defense Against the Dark Arts, Percival Graves’ instructor had told them that the Imperius Curse could be resisted. Once news of Grindelwald’s campaign of terror had spread to New York, Graves had even selected a handful of his best aurors and trained with them to resist it. Holding onto your sense of self and reality against the seductive dream-state of the curse was impossibly hard and Graves had spent the better half of two weeks cartwheeling, dancing the jitterbug with another controlled Auror or whatever else his subordinates had managed to devise before being able to withstand its lure. 

It hadn’t helped. Training calmly with men and women you knew and trusted, who gave you a chance to collect and center yourself before launching the curse wasn’t enough. Grindelwald’s spell caught him off-guard and exhausted, feeling blood run down a shin that he knew had been broken and he simply hadn’t stood a chance. The sense of floating calm overwhelmed him. He dimly noticed himself docilely escorting the most wanted wizard in the world to his apartment and sitting down in a closet while Grindelwald locked him in. It would be the last time he had any sense of himself--- or of reality--- for a very long time. 

_“Finite incantatem!”_

The calm dissipated and Graves blinked, the world coming into focus. He was in a hospital bed, in clothes that were not his own and his shin ached with a persistent throb that spoke of magical healing. Seraphina Picquery herself stood over him, tucking away the slender purple wand. 

“Madam Pres---” He started to struggle upwards, only to be startled by how hard it was, how even that exertion made his heart pound with effort. 

“At ease, Graves.” 

“But Grindelwald is here, Madam.”

“He’s in custody. You’re lucky we found you. His curse was strong enough that you would have starved to death in that closet.” 

Graves suppressed a wave of shame at the revelation, but took some comfort that they had needed Picquery herself to break the curse. “Thank you.”  
“Eat, rest. We’ll debrief you tomorrow.” 

It was three days before the hospital was willing to let him go. Their spells could restore some of his lost muscle mass and straighten the shin that had healed wrongly during his months in the closet. The potions kept him from waking in a cold sweat, frantic to assure himself that he could move under his own power again, and regrew the hair that Grindelwald had cut day after day to make his Polyjuice Potion. Still, they could only do so much. His shin had been broken by magic, a curse so deep that it had cut through flesh and into the bone. Compounded by the incorrect healing, the doctors had needed to rebreak the bone and then heal it again in the correct position. He’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life. And the dreams? Well, he had a prescription for a Potion of Dreamless Sleep and if all else failed, the No-Maj’s bootlegged bourbon worked nearly as well. 

 

Picquery’s debriefing had left him wanting some of that bootlegged bourbon as well, Graves admitted to himself as he lowered himself into the worn leather chair behind his desk. He hadn’t been much help. Most of his captivity had been staring at a closet wall in a stupor, except for the few moments when Grindelwald had cut fresh hair or given him orders to eat or drink. He was only able to confirm some of what MACUSA had already suspected about Grindelwald’s capabilities: his able use of the Unforgivable Curses, his skill at wandless magic---

\--- _“Expelliarmus!” He’d never been so glad to see a charm land solidly as the wand went flying from Grindelwald’s grasp. The smirk never left the blond monster’s face even as Graves dove for the weapon._

_The warlock waved his hand casually. “Scindere,” he called._

_Graves hit the ground and rolled, swearing in pain as the blade of magic whipped across where his torso had been, slicing across his lower right leg instead._

_“Accio.” The wand flew back to Grindelwald and Graves staggered to his feet. He needed reinforcements and he reached for the sky to signal for his Aurors. If he could get their attention, cast an anti-disparition jinx, then…_

_“Imperio,” was the last thing he’d heard. ---_

“Shit.” Graves pushed a hand through his slicked back hair. Cursing like a No-Maj was a bad habit he’d picked up from years of secrecy patrols, casually talking to them long enough to ascertain whether their exposure to magic merited Obliviation. He stood, walked, reassured himself yet again that his limbs, his thoughts were his own. Reflecting on the duel, now that he understood Grindelwald’s goals, honestly made him feel worse. The warlock had needed him alive. He likely hadn’t even duelled at his full strength. Damn. He’d be better next time, faster. He’d make the man kill him before surrendering his life, his will, his work, his identity again like that. 

Picquery had wanted a report on everything Grindelwald had done while wearing his face. Clearly, the obscurial had been one of his goals, but was that his only purpose in New York? How deeply had MACUSA been compromised? Graves returned to his desk, sorting through the paperwork, the forms, called in his subordinates. He had apparently ordered the summary execution of Goldstein and a British magizoologist-- a thing he was not entirely sure how to apologize for. He’d also demoted Goldstein as well to wand permit office four months ago. The combination of the two events gave him pause. Everything else Grindelwald had done had been carefully calculated to avoid attracting suspicion. The reports the man had filed cribbed turns of phrase and specific suggestions from earlier paperwork Graves himself had actually done. His office even looked exactly how he had left it. What had Goldstein and Theseus’s little brother done to merit taking such a risk? 

Only one way to find out. He sent his secretary to find Goldstein and it wasn’t long until she arrived. 

“Sir.” She couldn’t quite look at him and Graves felt himself wince.

“Sit down, Goldstein.” So this was going to be uncomfortable. “I…apologize for trying to have you killed.”

“I know that wasn’t you, sir.” 

“I know.” He still felt responsible somehow. If he’d been quicker on the draw, perhaps, or more resilient of will, Grindelwald might not have been wearing his face. And someone that Goldstein respected as a superior might not have ordered her death. They were silent for a moment, then Graves spoke again. “I’m surprised he was willing to do so. It must have attracted attention.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And he demoted you--- which, yes, I am planning to rectify.” He saw Goldstein’s face light up for a moment and he lifted a hand to stop her. “The report is vague. It says only that you violated the International Code of Secrecy by publicly confronting a No-Maj. Can you tell me what happened?” 

 

The sleeting wind that whipped down Pike Street made Graves hunch his head deeper into the scarf. It was cold even for a New York December and if he hadn’t been on a street full of No-Majs, he might have cast a spell for warmth. When he reached the church of the Second Salemers, the building was in ruins, open to the elements. Tatters of sodden pamphlets clung to the steps as he ducked his head under the police tape. Sleet collected on the broken pews, glazing them with a translucent layer of ice. 

Credence Barebone. The young man Goldstein had intervened for and who had turned out to be the obscurial. Graves had read the official report. MACUSA had contained the creature in the bowels of City Hall on ‘his’ orders and annihilated it, revealing Gellert Grindelwald in the process. A terse footnote had noted “strenuous objections voiced by Porpentina Goldstein, Federal Wand Officer” and when Graves had asked her, she’d insisted that Newt Scamander could have saved Barebone. That he’d nearly done so before with a Sudanese obscurial. Perhaps. After all, there was something so threatening about the magizoologist that Grindelwald had tried to have him executed. 

The place looked cold and unwelcoming, even for ruins and Graves suppressed a further shiver. Obscurials were born of misery and terror; a child’s magic was warped by pain and rage until it lashed out, murdering oppressor, bystander and eventually its host with equal indifference. For Credence Barebone to have lived so far past the normal age, for his obscurus to have done so much damage, his suffering must have been as immense as his power. 

Graves walked through the ruins and paused when he kicked a leather belt, sending it skittering out across the wooden floor until it came to rest. He paused, picked it up and as he turned it over in his hands, he noted dark maroon stains on the edge, visible even through the leather. 

“Merlin’s…” Graves dropped the belt, turning his head aside. His body tensed in anger and frustration. He was familiar with the Second Salemers in passing. They were watched as surreptitiously as possible to ensure that they had no real chance of revealing the magical world but he knew many wizards at MACUSA regarded them as a deluded joke, the mother a bore and a zealot and the children blank-faced freaks. He’d laughed himself a time or two at her histrionics and he couldn’t suppress the wave of guilt as he stood in this miserable place. MACUSA had failed Credence Barebone. The wizarding community at large had failed him. How had he not been found, his magical talent sensed? How had he slipped through their fingers, given to that woman to be abused and terrorized? Had an Ilvermorny owl arrived on his tenth birthday? Or had his talent already been buried so deep that no one had been able to find him?

Graves glanced at the altar, where the tattered remnants of the church’s banner stood. The wand was still visible, broken over the embroidered flames and he found himself muttering the spell for warmth in a perverse, belated defiance. _“Tepeo.”_ Heat flooded him, taking the edge away from the sleet and wind and he turned away from the stark sight. No wonder Credence Barebone had become an obscurial. Despite the magizoologist’s protests, killing him had probably been a mercy. 

He headed home, shin protesting slightly and he made a note to himself to buy a walking stick or see if a pair of boots could be enchanted to help with the limp. Engrossed, trying to determine the spell that he’d need, he failed to notice the dark mist drifting from shadow to shadow after him.


	2. Cave Inimicum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home isn't as comforting when someone else has been drinking your brandy. Credence is an unexpected guest. Graves is less of a good human being than Newt Scamander. But still a decent one. 
> 
> CN: Swearing, Implied Violence, Mild Gore

By the time that Graves found a place to duck out of sight and apparate home, his shin was starting to throb. Was this how No-Majs dealt with injury? The long and nagging recovery? He hung his coat and scarf on the rack that had waddled over to greet him and started to the kitchen before pausing. The closet was still there, doors standing open. Graves shuddered. He hadn’t thought about how coming back into the house would affect him, even though the Aurors who investigated had done the best they could at putting it back to normal. His lieutenant, Sophie McIlvain, had even stood shamefacedly in front of him in the hospital room and asked to borrow a memory of how it was. “...I should have known. Should have known it wasn’t you and I didn’t. Least I can do is put it all back the way it was,” she said and Graves had hushed her and given her the memory. 

They’d done an admirable job. The dark hardwood was spotless, the furniture as he had left it. Only the the fact that the bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy he kept on the cherry end table was new rather than halfway gone revealed that someone had been there. Grindelwald had sat on his couch and drank his damn brandy. The fact made him suddenly, irrationally angry and he snapped his wand out, pointing it at the closet doors and snarling the curse without looking. The doors disintegrated and the hinges and screws clattered to the ground. As if that would have helped. As if anything would have helped once the Imperius curse had gotten hold of him. Grindelwald could have pointed him at the armchair right across from him and Graves would have sat docilely and watched him drink.  
The anger ate at him. This was probably why Sophie had suggested a hotel room, but he’d be damned if he let Grindelwald occupy his life a day longer than he had to. He would stay here. He glanced at the slowly fading dust of the disintegrated closet doors. He would also, maybe, buy some fabric to cover that. 

Graves went into the kitchen and scanned through the shelves. Some perishables remained, but not much. One of the Aurors seemed to have put in some basic groceries, so he flicked his wand at a can of soup, working the lid off and pouring it into a saucepan to heat on the stove as a ham sandwich made itself on the counter. He ate, and then while the dishes washed themselves, he opened the bottle of brandy and poured himself a few fingers of it, trying to relax. He paged through the New York Ghost, but he couldn’t settle down long enough to focus on any of the articles. He sighed and set the paper down, flicking his wand for the Potion of Dreamless Sleep. At least he knew he would be able to sleep. 

He changed for bed and poured himself the proper dosage before setting his wand on the bedside table. He was about to drink it when he hesitated. If someone were to come in--- He shook his head. “Merlin, Perce,” he admonished himself. “Because Grindelwald is going to come back to the cover he’s already blown.” He drained the small glass before he could secondguess himself again and slid into bed. 

 

He woke with a start in the deep darkness of his bedroom. Had he had a nightmare so violent that it had overpowered the potion? His heart was pounding and he could feel sweat cooling on his skin. It was too dark--- too dark and the shadows seemed to shift and move on the ceiling. 

He reached for his wand and whispered the spell. _“Lumos.”_

Smoke. Inky black smoke roiled and writhed on the ceiling of his bedroom, trailing out into the hallway and down the stairs. Graves felt his heartbeat accelerate even more as he slipped out of bed. He glanced worriedly up at the smoke, which rippled and moved in a disconcertingly organic way. What in hell’s name… He moved down the stairs into the living room, holding the light low and to the side, giving any hex or curse that came his way a false target, away from his actual body. 

The smoke was denser in the living room, pooling on the ceiling and drifting down a swirling mist in the corner of the room, back against one of the bookshelves. Graves could hear--- crying? There was someone in that black mist. 

“...hello?” he called, flicking the light off of his wand so that it drifted closer to the mist. “Is someone there?” 

“M-mr. Graves?” The mist condensed somewhat, drifting down and revealing the outlines of a human form. The smoke was vanishing into it, the form becoming darker and more defined. 

“Who are you? How do you know where I live?” 

The questions just provoked a fresh burst of sobs from the mist. It swirled, expanded outwards in a burst that made Graves jump back. His wand snapped up defensively. The smoke brushed against the globe of light he had cast, which sizzled and burnt out, plunging the room back into darkness. He could almost feel the smoke swirling around him, the inky cloud seething with destructive magic, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. 

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have hurt you….I….” 

The inky black smoke, the voice claiming to know him, to have attacked him. It clicked together abruptly with the report he had read, Goldstein’s account of what had happened in the basement of City Hall. 

“Credence Barebone.” He swallowed. The knowledge wasn’t comforting. The obscurial had survived somehow and it was….in his house, claiming to know him. Grindelwald must have met with it before. Lost control of it? He had to keep it here, alert MACUSA…

“Mr. Graves,” the obscurial said again and Graves could feel the smoke start to retreat again. So it seemed that the calmer it was, the less of the destructive mist manifested itself. It made sense-- if an obscurus was made from pain and rage, equally negative emotions would likely trigger it. 

“Good evening, Mr. Barebone. Might I ask what you’re doing in my house?” The formality of it struck him as wholly ridiculous. He lowered the wand partially, flicking towards his lamps to switch them on. With the room fully lit and the smoke retreating, he could actually see the obscurial now, huddled at the base of the bookshelf. 

It flinched, though, at the sound of the name. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” 

Damn. Damn. What had he said wrong? “...Credence?” The use of the first name seemed to steady it. Graves found the unequal address unsettling, but whatever Grindelwald had said or done to the obscurial, he wasn’t going to upset it now by asking to be called Percival. Credence it was then. “I’m very sorry, Credence. It’s quite late.” He asked the question again. “What are you doing in my house?” 

“Didn’t….didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you. I just…” The obscurial sniffled, glancing up at him for the first time and Graves inhaled sharply at the sight of how badly injured it was. A black eye, half-healed wounds and burns partially visible under torn clothing. MACUSA had done its absolute best to destroy the threat to its city and he felt suddenly less convinced of that decision. 

“I’m not hurt. It’s alright.” Because the obscurial had actually attacked a foreign warlock wearing his face, but that explanation could wait. And of course Barebone had nowhere to go-- the church was in ruins. His mother (abusive and horrible as she had been) and sister were dead. Silence dragged on for a long moment as Graves searched for something to say. “Would you like something to eat?”

The obscurial---Barebone-- _Credence_ nodded shakily. “Come sit at the table then,” Graves invited, flicking his wand towards the kitchen. Canned soup and sandwiches wasn’t really a gourmet meal, but it was what he had at the moment and he somehow doubted the other man was going to complain. Another flick started coffee brewing. The sleeping potion was seeming like an even poorer decision now. Falling asleep with a wanted obscurial _in his living room_ sounded like a great way to get fired. 

Credence staggered to his feet as the rest of the mist condensed inside him. The movement, however, tore open some of the half-healed wounds and Graves could smell the sudden iron tang of blood. The young man nearly fell and Graves’ reaction was instinctive, closing the distance and catching him. 

“Easy!” Graves could feel an oozing warmth under his hand--- the wound on Credence’s back was bleeding as well. The one visible injury on his chest as well was swollen slightly and thin red lines of infection extended into the flesh around it. “...no one’s taken care of these, have they?” 

Credence shook his head. Graves was about to ask why Credence hadn’t tried but the look of abject misery on his face stopped him. “May I?” He gestured with his wand to the wound he could see. “Please.”

Credence once again seemed startled by the question or perhaps the courtesy of it, but he nodded his consent again. Graves shifted his grip on the other man slightly. He wasn’t very good at healing spells; his wand’s core was wampus cat hair, leaning towards hexes, jinxes and apparition. He’d not paid as much attention as he should have at Ilvermorny either; he’d known from a very young age that he’d wanted to be an Auror like his ancestor. Healing magic was triage, enough to get a fellow Auror back to safety, not for undoing a week’s worth of infection and neglect and blood loss. On an obscurial. On a young man who was so scared he was literally shaking in Graves’ arms. Who he was going to hand over to MACUSA. 

He forced his attention back to the spell. _“Vulnera sanentur,”_ he sang quietly, paying attention to the words, the sound. Half the spell was in the harmony, the sound encouraging the body to knit, to be whole. Credence shivered, a few wisps of smoke beginning to emerge again and Graves tightened his grip in reassurance. Healing of this magnitude wasn’t comfortable, bringing intense heat as the body repaired itself. The lines of infection retracted and the wound knit fully. 

He kept going, methodically healing each of the wounds. There were five in total, two on his chest, one on his back, and two across his forearms, as if even as an obscurus, Credence had curled in on himself in a futile attempt to ward off the magic. The image made Graves a little sick.

By the time he was done, Credence had slumped against him, overwhelmed either by the magic or by simple exhaustion. God, he was _small._ Still partially weakened from being imprisoned for so many months, Graves could carry him easily over to the couch and set him down as gently as possible. He swung the young man’s feet up as well as caught himself looking at the obscurial’s face. He was astonished at how young Credence looked as well. He couldn’t be more than twenty. 

The percolator was starting to whistle and Graves silenced it with a wave of his wand. Something on the slim piece of wood caught his attention and he examined it more closely. Fourteen and a half inches, ebony, inlaid with silver---- a tip currently smeared with dark red. He had Credence’s blood on his hands too, from when he had held him upright. A dim, bitter part of him fully appreciated the irony. Oh, he had blood on his hands, on his wand right now, but only in the literal sense. If he gave Credence to MACUSA, with the young man as scared as he was, so quick to shift back to the destructive obscurus, he’d have it metaphorically as well. 

He couldn’t do that. He had to wait a day or maybe two. Long enough for Credence to calm down, for Graves to be able to explain what was happening and why the obscurial needed to cooperate, long enough that turning him in wasn’t going to be a death sentence. Graves wiped his wand clean and went into the kitchen to wash his hands. The sandwich was made and the soup was hot, but he didn’t want to wake the young man. He left a plate and mug on the side table. 

He got a cup of the coffee he’d brewed for himself, sitting down in the armchair across from the couch, but eyelids started to droop after barely a half-hour. Strongly-brewed or not, the No-Maj stimulant wasn’t going to combat a sleeping potion. Graves roused himself enough to gesture his wand towards the ceiling. _“Cave inimicum,”_ he murmured, warding the door against intruders. His last through, as the potion dragged him back asleep, was that he wasn’t sure if that meant Grindelwald--- or MACUSA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and comments always welcome! Next chapter should be up in a few days as well. I'm still burning through that backlog!


	3. Percival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coworker shows up to check on Graves. Graves tells Credence the truth. Credence reacts badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Graves now lives in a brownstone for those of you who noticed the disparity. I figured the Director of Magical Security probably makes enough to own property in 1920s New York City.

“Graves. Graves! PERCIVAL!” Graves snapped awake from the alert that _Cave Inimicum_ set off in his head and the sound of Sophie McIlvain yelling his name. She was outside on the stoop and of course, Credence Barebone was awake and scared and already starting to vibrate with terror. 

“Damnit. One second!” he yelled to Sophie. He crossed over to Credence. “It’s alright,” he said, crouching in front of the young man. He touched his arm. “You’re safe. I promise.” 

The vibrating ceased but Credence still didn’t speak.

“Just stay here. I’m going to cast a spell to keep my friend from seeing you.” Credence nodded again. If it hadn’t been for the pleas and apologies of the night before, Graves wouldn’t have even been sure that the young man _could_ speak. 

He stepped back, whispering the words as he drew a circle around what he wanted to conceal, then went to answer the door, ending the protection charm. A blast of cold air streamed into the Federal brownstone. 

“Sophie.” 

“Percival. Since when do you hex your house this much?” 

Graves blinked at her for a long moment, trying to understand why Sophie was here, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and check that the concealment charm was working and that Credence wasn’t turning back into destructive smoke that could kill everyone on the block. He was also beginning to notice that mixing a sleeping potion with coffee apparently gave you a vicious, vicious headache. 

“Right.” Sophie continued. “Since you got cursed into spending five months imprisoned in your own closet. That would do it.”

“Yes.” He shook his head to clear it. “Sophie, why are you standing on my doorstep?” 

She arched an eyebrow. “Because it’s 10 am and you didn’t come into work. And I couldn’t reach you by Floo. Probably because you hexed your house. _Cave Inimicum_ with no exceptions is sort of extreme.” She glanced him over and two faint spots of pink appeared on her cheeks. “Also you’re not dressed.” 

Graves felt the same heat rise to his face. He wasn’t dressed. He’d been too worried about concealing Credence and keeping him calm to think about putting on a robe, so he was standing barefoot and shirtless in the doorway. “Yes. I think I’m taking the day off. Didn’t sleep well last night.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

“I can imagine why.” A grimace flickered across Sophie’s face rapidly and Graves abruptly decided he was _never_ asking her what his house looked like before she and the other Aurors had put it back the way it was. “Didn’t the hospital tell you not to go back to work anyway? For at least three weeks.”

“I am not sitting in my house staring at the ceiling for three weeks,” Graves muttered. 

“Some people have hobbies.” 

_“Sophie.”_

She quirked a smile. “Glad I can get under your skin again.” 

“I take it the magical supremacist wearing my face was less susceptible.” Damn it. He shouldn’t have said that. He knew right away from the way her smile faded into guilt. 

“I’m sorry.” She glanced down, fiddled with her jacket. “I should have known. I wondered-- you seemed distant; you forgot that you’d agreed to go to _Castles in the Air_ with me. I just never thought...”

“No one thought Grindelwald would come here.” Merlin, how much damage had that lunatic done to his department, his life? “Forget it. We’ve got him. It doesn’t matter.” 

She nodded, pulling herself back together. “I’ll let the others know you’re not coming in. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all. I mean it, Percival.”

“I will.” Sophie turned to go, raising her wand to apparate away and he stopped her. “Sophie. Are you and the others still training against the Imperius Curse?” 

“Yes, though you--he--” Sophie tensed. “Merlin, I let that man--” She covered her mouth. “I wondered why you’d gotten so good at it!”

“Sophie.” He stepped out into the stoop and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to ignore the bitter cold of the concrete stoop under his bare feet. “It’s alright. I-” He started to apologize, then stopped. Would it do any good? “With the others. You need to be less nice about it. No more warnings before you cast it. And add in Tina Goldstein. She’s sharp.” 

She nodded. “I will.”She smiled again, a little less shakily. “Get some rest.” Graves let her go and she apparated away. He waited a few full moments to make sure she didn’t return before stepping back into his house, closing and locking the door. He waved his wand, undoing the concealment charm. 

“Who was that?” Credence said softly. He didn’t like the idea that his Mr. Graves had other friends, people who he touched as easily as he did Credence. His...This Mr. Graves at least. Could there be two? This wasn’t his Mr. Graves. This one seemed….kinder, perhaps, but Credence caught him looking at him with a bewildered confusion sometimes, as if Credence was a stranger. But he’d come looking, came to the ruins of the church even after Credence had hurt him, betrayed him…

He only half-heard what Mr. Graves was saying at first. “--phie McIlvain. She’s a friend and a coworker.” Credence hadn’t noticed at first that the other man was half-dressed until the blond woman at the door had said something. He’d been too scared, too afraid that that Mr. Graves was going to give him back to the people who had hurt him, but now he couldn’t help noticing. He was bigger than Credence, a little taller maybe, but certainly broader in the shoulders. He had scars too. Not as many, but there was a small one on his left arm and another, vicious looking one that ran from the middle of his back and curved around his side before dropping under his waistband just in front of his hip. He was looking. He was looking and his head throbbed suddenly with guilt and panic and he looked away, breath coming hard with terror. His vision started to blur and double. 

“Credence?” He heard Mr. Graves’ voice again and the man was crouching in front of him. “Credence. I need you to breathe.” Breathing. Breathing should be so easy; it should be so easy to obey. It was such a little thing that Mr. Graves was asking him to do now after all of his failures before. Credence breathed. He breathed. His vision stabilized, started to return to normal. 

Mr. Graves let out a sigh and once again, he had that look of helpless confusion on his face. He stood. “Do you want breakfast?” he asked and Credence’s mouth watered at the idea. To be offered another meal so soon after the first was incomprehensible. To say yes would be greed but….he finally settled for nodding again. Mr. Graves went upstairs rather than into the kitchen though, and Credence finally had a chance to look around. Even from the inside, he could tell that this was a much different part of New York City than where his Ma had lived. He went to the window, glancing outside to see long rows of neatly kept brick Federal brownstones stretching down the street, shaded by mature trees. Credence didn’t recognize where they were; this was the type of neighborhood where the police would arrive as soon as they began to canvass and more (or less) politely ask them to leave. 

Inside, there was deep brown hardwood running the length of the rowhouse and a large brick fireplace with a wood mantel dominated one side of the room. The couch Credence had slept on was some sort of black, velvety fabric and two matching armchairs stood across from it, separated by a cherry coffee table. On the end table was a bottle of some kind of alcohol--- Credence didn’t know enough to identify it-- just that Ma had said alcohol was sinful, liquor more than most. She’d liked Senator Shaw for that, that he’d endorsed Prohibition, “cleansed the city of vice,” even if… Credence shook his head, pushing his mind away from that, the darkness, the buzzing, the anger and shame. 

Upstairs, Graves changed into actual clothes first, then stopped by his office to pick up his old Charms textbook from Ilvermorny, flipping to the chapter on food charms. It had been a long time since he’d done any sort of cooking. It never seemed worthwhile when it was just him, so it couldn’t hurt to look the words over again. He had the salary to go to a restaurant when he wanted nicer food and the simplest of things sufficed when he didn’t. He glanced over the spells as went downstairs and into the kitchen, where hardwood ceded to a cream colored tile. Cherry cabinets with glass fronts that echoed the wood in the living room. The appliances looked relatively new, though Graves would be the first to admit that was mostly because only the percolator saw much use. Passing by the living room, he’d noticed that Credence must have woken at some point in the night because the sandwich and soup were gone. He was vaguely gratified that the young man had a little more color in his face from the food and a night’s sleep and that he hadn’t bolted out a window while Graves had been asleep. 

It was still a problem. Credence still started to shift into the obscurus at the slightest provocation and at some point, Graves was going to have to tell him _I don’t know you._ Was there any way to do that and still ensure his own and Credence’s safety? There was no helping it though; he had to be honest if Credence was to trust him and he needed Credence’s trust to make transferring him to MACUSA possible. 

He beckoned eggs, butter and bacon out of refrigerator as well, starting to make omelets and bacon. The smell of the meat frying started to permeate the first floor, drawing Credence almost involuntarily into the kitchen. Graves couldn’t help but smile somewhat. “Hungry?” Another wordless nod. “Do you drink coffee? Tea?” 

“Tea, Mr. Graves,” Credence answered in scarcely above a whisper. “Coffee was always too expensive for Ma.” 

That was the longest sentence that Credence had said since the night before, so Graves saw that as encouraging. “I’ll put on some water for tea then too.” Silverware slipped out of the drawers, setting themselves down on the table and Credence jumped, watching them warily. “It’s alright,” Graves said, but opted to get the plates and the mugs by hand at least for the moment. “I’m just used to doing everything with magic.”

Credence swallowed and there was a look of abject longing on his face for a brief moment. “Y-yes, Mr. Graves.” 

Graves sighed, pouring coffee for himself and tea for Credence, then sitting down across from him. “Can I ask you to do something for me, Credence?” The younger man tensed and Merlin, Graves wasn’t sure that he wanted to know what Grindelwald had asked him to do. “Can you call me Percival?”

“Perci---”

“Percival. I mean…” He wasn’t going to explain about Grindelwald yet. “How long have we known each other?”

“Four---five months.” 

Five months. So Grindelwald had sought Credence out almost immediately after stealing his face. How long had he known that he was the obscurial? “Well, don’t you think you should be able to call me by my first name after five months?” 

“If you want me to.”

Merlin, Credence was so hesitant, so afraid. The eggs, bacon and toast were done and he gestured a plate over to the other man. “Eat.” Credence didn’t need to be told twice. He ate like someone afraid of having their plate taken away--- which was likely true. Graves ate more slowly, drinking his coffee as he mulled over the problem. He needed a place where Credence could lose control without harming anyone--- and preferably without being seen by wizards or No-Majs. By the time he was done, he had an idea--- he glanced at Credence’s tattered clothes. The younger man might freeze to death before he had any opportunity to lose control. 

“May I repair those?” Graves asked, gesturing to the tatters. Credence hesitated, then nodded and a quick charm meant his clothes at least didn’t have holes in them. The dishes were clinking the sink and he took a deep breath. “Credence, do you understand what happens when you lose control?” 

Credence swallowed. “I hurt people.” 

Graves nodded. “And it seems to happen when you’re scared or angry. You and I need to talk and I think...some of the things I’m going to say will make you very scared and very angry. May I take you somewhere where you won’t hurt anyone if you lose control?” 

Credence nodded. Graves was about to take his arm and disapparate, but he paused. Those clothes still weren’t heavy enough for a New York winter and he waved his hand, summoning a spare coat out of his closet. “Here.” He whisked it over Credence’s shoulders. The coat was too big, hanging over Credence’s shoulders by nearly an inch on either side and the sleeves reached to his knuckles. The sight of younger man wearing his clothes, dwarfed by them gave him an inexplicable burst of fondness and he couldn’t help notice the way his fingers brushed Credence’s jaw, his neck as he adjusted the collar. 

Credence was blushing, looking down and Graves abruptly felt heat rise in his cheeks as well. “Anyway. Hold onto my arm,” he said, and disapparated. 

 

They appeared deep in the swamp of the Meadowlands, near a place where Graves had tracked a beast smuggler some years ago. Credence gasped, startled by the sudden change in location, out in the wind and the cold. He’d seen Mr. Graves--- no, Percival--- do it before, disappear into thin air like that, but he’d never brought him along. The new experience, the new name--- _Percival_ \--sent a small warmth into his chest, hoping that maybe the man that he admired so much had truly forgiven him. He’d touched him too, like he used to, brushed his chin just under the collar. Credence knew that Percival was just being kind; he didn’t mean what Credence desperately, sinfully wanted. The idea that someone as powerful, as calm, as important as the other man could be as sick and twisted as Credence was laughable. 

But he said he wanted to talk about something upsetting. Was he displeased? But he’d lent him his coat and the faint spice-and-woodsmoke scent of what must be Percival’s aftershave still clung to it.  
Credence ducked his head deeper into the collar, pulling it tighter around him. He’d have hope--- and there wasn’t any point in putting if off if he was to be punished. “Mr---Percival,” he said and hoped the other man would be pleased that he’d remembered, that he’d used the right name. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“You understand that I’m a wizard, yes? That I do magic and that there are others like me.”

God, yes. God, he knew that. That there was a place where someone like him wasn’t a freak, but….they’d seen him and leveled wands at him, tore him to pieces. Nothing had hurt like that, not even Ma’s worst storms of rage when he was ten and she’d broken a rod against his back before coolly asking for his belt to continue. He didn’t even understand how he’d put himself back together. Would they still want him? Accept him? Or would they call him a freak as well, a monster that needed to be put down? “Yes. I do. You promised--”

That look of pained confusion again. “I didn’t--” Percival stopped. “You’ve seen some of what wizards can do, but there are other things as well. There’s a potion-- it’s called a Polyjuice Potion but that doesn’t really matter right now-- that lets a wizard take someone else’s shape. Change their body to look like that person’s.”

Why was Percival telling him this? There was a sense of dread building in the pit of Credence’s stomach as the other man continued to speak and he suddenly felt cold even through the oversized coat.  
“That happened to me. A Dark wizard from Europe came to New York; he imprisoned me and used that potion to impersonate me for months. He was looking for you, because you’re an obscurial. You’re so powerful, so incredibly powerful and he wanted to use that, to use you. Credence, I….we’ve never actually met before last night. You were talking to Gell--”

Never actually met. The Mr. Graves he’d known, who’d comforted him, held him, healed his wounds--- a liar, a betrayer, a ‘dark wizard from Europe’. Wanted to use him, the destructive power that he couldn’t control. The words rang in his head, starting to buzz. Not just because he’d failed, been unworthy, attacked him. Mr. Graves had never meant it, never wanted to help him, never cared. The promises, the touches--- not only not what Credence had wanted but nothing at all, not even real. He could vaguely hear Percival-- the other Mr. Graves, the not Mr. Graves--- talking. “Credence, Credence, please…” Nothing but pity. Pity and confusion for the sad, sick freak who came crawling back to someone who didn’t even known him. 

Credence ripped himself apart into anger and grief. 

 

“Shit!” Graves disapparated by pure Auror instinct as the obscurus rushed through the bit of swamp where he’d been standing mere seconds before, dumping himself onto the muddy ground a few yards away. Well that had failed miserably. He’d _babbled,_ uncertain and uncomfortable and trying to make Credence understand and well--- the young man had understood enough, clearly. 

He ran back to the spot where he’d been standing but the obscurus was streaking away across the wetlands already, leaving massive ugly scorches in its wake. He inhaled, seeing the extent of the damage just from seeing Credence transform. Merlin, such power! And such destruction. Graves had read the report from MACUSA on the damage that the obscurus had wreaked in New York, but seeing it in person was different. It was terrifying. He apparated after the obscurus, reappearing long enough to check the trail before disapparating again, but even as he did so, his mind was racing. 

Could he actually ensure Credence’s safety at MACUSA? The organization was divisive. There would be some factions that wanted to use him as Grindelwald did, to fight fire with fire. Others would simply want to eliminate the threat. There would be some who agreed with him, that Credence needed help. Ultimately, though, Graves would have a great deal of influence over what happened. As the Director of Magical Security, what happened to Credence would be within his purview. Unless he was overridden by Seraphina Picquery. Or the International Confederation of Wizards. Unless the Research Division refused to listen when he said that some Brit with no degree thought he could undo what made Credence dangerous Unless someone decided Credence was too much of a threat and hexed him in an alley on their own initiative. There was no good answer, no good decision and if he made the wrong one, he was gambling with Credence’s life and freedom. 

It took nearly an hour until Credence finally slowed. Graves had had to apparate in front of him at one point, using a shield charm with all of his strength behind it to turn the obscurus back the way it had came, preventing it from storming out of the Meadowlands and into an inhabited area. 

The obscurus finally collapsed anticlimactically in on itself, leaving Credence collapsed in the mud, crying as if his heart would break. “Credence?” Graves approached him, weary from the pursuit. 

“Why are you still talking to me?” the younger man gasped out. “How can you not hate me?” 

“Because of that?” Graves gestured behind him. “I….yes that’s terrifying, but that’s not your fault.” Disregarding the mud entirely, he got down on his knees next to him, touching his shoulder. 

“But I---”

“Did you want to hurt me? Hurt any of those people in New York?” 

“No! I didn’t; I swear I--” Credence sat up from the mud long enough to look at him, wet eyes desperate. 

“I believe you,” Graves said. “Credence, being an obscurial isn’t your fault.” He remembered how delighted he was the morning of his tenth birthday. He’d stayed up all night waiting for the Ilvermorny owl, only to fall asleep just before dawn and wake to find the letter in his lap. Feeling the warmth run up his arm when his wand chose him that summer had been one of the best moments of his life. “Magic is supposed to be something wonderful. You spent a lifetime being told to hate a part of yourself and…” He gestured at the scorched trail leading away from him. “Someone should have found you. Should have saved you. This shouldn’t have happened.” 

“H-he promised. That if I did what he wanted, that I could be a wizard. I’d-- I’d be safe, I’d be free...” That tore Graves’ heart out. He was sitting in the mud of the swamplands of northern New Jersey, with the only obscurial in known history to have lived past puberty, who had rampaged through all of New York City and killed at least three different people that they knew of, who had almost exposed all of wizardkind and all he could think about how incredibly alone Credence must have been. For Gellert Grindelwald to be his best chance at safety, at freedom, at happiness. 

“I’m sorry,” Graves said softly, holding him tightly as the young man sobbed into his chest. “I know how much you wanted what he promised you and I’m so sorry.” The apology seemed so paltry compared to the weight of Credence’s suffering. Broken, betrayed, used, an impossible weapon burnt into the body of a terrified young man. There was no way that Graves could give him to MACUSA, not when there was the slightest chance it would endanger him. He leaned down, spoke more quietly, directly against Credence’s ear. “But I’ll promise you this. Do you hear me, Credence? I promise you. You will be safe and you will be free and you will never have to be afraid again, not as long I have breath in my body.” 

Credence was quiet for a long moment. “....he promised that too. And he just wanted to use me. How….how am I supposed to trust what you’re telling me?” he said.

Graves touched his hair. “Because I’ll prove it,” he said. “You don’t have believe what I’m telling you. I’ll prove it. Will you give me time to?” 

There was another long moment and Graves could feel the weight of Credence thinking, weighing, deciding whether or not to trust again before he just nodded softly. “Alright. I will,” he said softly and the warmth that ran through Graves at that moment was not entirely unlike when his wand had chosen him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I love hearing what you think! There is one last chapter of backlog (and then writing while I was posting my backlog) after this one and then my pace will probably slow down.
> 
> And um. Now I have a tumblr? Good-bye, productivity! Come say hi, if you want: www.tumblr.com/blog/maggieandthedragon


	4. Silk Lining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend passes. Credence experiments with magic. Graves and Credence go shopping. Graves realizes that he is not the only one affected by Grindelwald impersonating him. 
> 
> (Also, coat porn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized that the timing of this fic means I am inevitably going to have to write a holiday fluff chapter. Oh no. (;
> 
> See the end notes for treat!

Credence and Graves sat in the cold of the wetland for a long moment before Credence finally spoke. “Can we go back to your house, Mr--- Percival?” Credence asked. He was shivering from cold and exhaustion and Graves immediately complied, taking his arm and disapparating. He didn’t comment on his name. Mr. Percival was a start, a good one, but it was also endearing in a way that Graves wasn’t entirely comfortable feeling.

When they arrived, Graves looked down at both of their mud-soaked clothes and waved for a robe and a laundry basket from upstairs. “I have to go back and remove the scorch marks,” he said. “Can you change into this and just put your dirty clothes in there?” 

Credence nodded. “I will.”

Graves apparated back to the Meadowlands, painstakingly repairing the damage the obscurus had caused. Usually a reparation this big would use a team of Aurors--- apparently the entire department had worked overtime to restore the city the last time Credence had lost control. With only Graves, repairing the scorch marks across the swamp took nearly two and a half hours. By the time he was done, his shoes and pants were soaked through with mud and he was shivering with cold, too exhausted to warm himself with magic. He apparated directly to the bedroom, waving his wand for the laundry basket.

Credence had nearly dozed off when the sound of Percival’s footsteps upstairs caught his attention. He barely noticed as the laundry basket levitated suddenly and drifted upstairs. It was odd, honestly, how easily he’d become used to household items doing that. Credence thought back to the conversation they had in the swamp. 

_“Did you want to hurt me? Hurt any of those people in New York?”_ He hadn’t, had he? When Mr. Graves, no Gell-something Grindlewhat-- the name was impossible and he’d only halfway been paying attention. When the other Mr. Graves had told him he was a Squib, useless, he’d torn himself apart, welcomed the buzz and thoughtlessness of the obscurus not to harm anyone, but to dissolve and never feel again. And Percival believed him. Despite not being the Mr. Graves he had known, never having made him any promises, he had believed him. 

Then Percival had made him promises--- unconditional ones. _“You will be safe and you will be free and you will never have to be afraid again, not as long as I have breath in my body.”_ God, Credence wanted to believe him. He had been so good, so kind, even after seeing the evil inside him. He almost wished that there had been conditions, something he could do, some way of being worthy, of repaying Percival. He was living in his house, eating his food, relying on his help.

Tea. The thought came suddenly, remembering how mud-soaked and tired the other man had looked even before he’d gone back to the Meadowlands nearly three hours ago. It was small and trivial and nothing compared to the other’s belief and kindness, but it was something he could do. 

 

When Graves went downstairs, after charming the laundry to go and clean itself, Credence wasn’t in the living room. He glanced into the kitchen and saw the younger man carefully filling two mugs.

“I made tea.”

“Thank you,” Graves answered sincerely, still feeling the cold of the Meadowlands in his bones. “Were you able to find everything?”

“The tea and the kettle, but I didn’t know if you put sugar in your tea,” Credence answered. “Or milk.”

“Sugar, no milk. What about you?” Graves asked, taking the sugar out of the cabinet. 

“...black. Ma never bought sugar.” 

Graves suppressed his reaction. “Well, you’re welcome to put whatever you’d like in your tea. Milk is in the refrigerator.” He sat down across Credence, adding sugar to his tea and taking a sip. 

The silence was companionable, enjoyable, almost. Honestly, it was likely the longest period of time Graves had spent in his house (well, consciously) in a very long time. He worked late most nights and often would simply come home, eat dinner and read that day’s edition of the Ghost before going to sleep. On occasion, Sophie would pester him to join her at one of those No-Maj musicals she was so fond of or he would go to visit his family in New England, but that was it. Having company, especially undemanding company, was strangely pleasant. 

Credence eventually spoke, pointing towards the laundry tub in the corner of the large kitchen, where his shirt was wringing itself out, sending streams of muddy water back into the wash. “I wish I could do laundry like that. It takes all day by hand.” 

“It’s a fairly early charm you would have learned. My mother only made us wash our clothes by hand as children if we got them too dirty when we played. I remember it taking forever.”

“You have siblings too?” The idea of a simple chore being a punishment was baffling, but he wanted to know more about what wizards did, how they lived. If he was being honest, he wanted to know about Percival too. If….Percival wasn’t the Mr. Graves he’d known, he didn’t know him at all. Though, Credence’s mind added bitterly, clearly he hadn’t known that Mr. Graves at all either. 

“Elaine, my sister, is three years younger than me. She’s married now, with an eleven year old daughter-- Isolde. I had a brother too. His name was Cador. He was six years younger than me.”

“What happened?” Credence asked quietly.

“He died in 1915. He was good at magic, but he loved history more than anything. Britain was at war and he couldn’t have cared in the slightest. He was so excited to have gotten a research fellowship at the British Magical Library. He was on the Lusitania on his way there when it sank.” 

“I’m sorry.”

Graves shrugged. “It was eleven years ago. It doesn’t bother me as much as it did.” He been almost unable to breath with grief and rage when he’d learned of the news. Angry at the Germans for killing his little brother, angry at Cador for being so foolish, for leaving him alone to carry on the Graves family name when he already knew deep down in his bones he would fail. He’d been angry at the country for not declaring war sooner, at MACUSA for being so concerned about breaking the Statute of Secrecy. He’d gone to London himself and found a way to get in the fray and well…Theseus Scamander had happened so he somehow doubted he’d honored his brother’s memory at all. 

It wasn’t worth dwelling on. The conversation had lapsed somewhat and Graves could see Credence’s gaze drifting back to the laundry. He watched for a moment without answering, considering. It couldn’t hurt. No one was as powerful with a wand that hadn’t chosen them and even if Credence managed to produce some effect and then chose to be inexplicably violent, Graves had enough wandless magic to summon it back to him. Even if that failed, he could probably physically overpower Credence easily. He drew his wand from his pocket, flipped it around and handed it butt end first to Credence.

“Here.”  
Credence just stared at it at first. “What?”

“If you want.” Graves shrugged, still holding the wand outstretched. “Give it a flick. Nothing might happen. It’s my wand, so it won’t work as well for you, but you might get some sparks.” 

“But I…” Credence reached for it halfway and then drew back fearfully.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.” Graves waited there for a long moment, the wand held out and he was about to put it away again when Credence took it from him. “There. Just a flick. Maybe towards the living room in case you do get sparks.” 

Credence’s hand was shaking as he obeyed. He could hear his Ma’s voice in his head, shrieking about the sinfulness of witches layered over with the other Mr. Graves. _“You’re a Squib. I could smell it on you from the moment we met.”_ Black smoke oozed from the tip of Graves’ wand and Credence dropped it with a panicked yelp.

“Well, that was….” Credence could hear the thread of alarm in Percival’s voice even as he stood, coming around the table to pick up the wand.

“I’m sorry; I…” Percival shouldn’t have trusted him with this, with something so precious, so dangerous. He was always going to be dangerous, always going to--

“It’s alright.” Percival touched his knee and picked up the wand. “I think…for most wizards and witches, when they’re choosing a wand, they’re excited. They’re happy. Honestly, I think the day I got my wand was one of the best days of my life.” He smiled wistfully, clearly lost in a memory and Credence had to swallow against a wash of something that was hot like lust but sweet like family. He focused. Percival was still talking. “Try it again, but think about something good.”

Credence did. He thought about a day in April when it seemed like everyone, _everyone_ had taken a pamphlet and he was able to take the long way home through Seward Park and watch the other children play. He thought about a time before Chastity had become a copy of their mother. A passerby had given her a cone of candied nuts from a street vendor. They’d shared it, both vowing not to tell Mother and for the first time in months Credence had gone to bed with a full stomach. He thought about Percival crouched at his feet with his warm hand on his knee and that small, soft smile on his lips.  
Blue and gold light sparked and flared from the wand and he laughed, startled and delighted. “Look!”

Merlin, the joy on Credence’s face was intoxicating. Graves squeezed his knee. “See? Wizard after all.” He waited until the sparks died down and took the wand back. He sobered slightly as he returned to his seat, stirred his tea. Only sort of a wizard, because what sort of wizard would Credence be without a wand? Any reputable wand dealer would report the purchase and any wand officer worth their salt would flag the name “Credence Barebone.” There would be no better way to draw MACUSA’s attention. Talented or not, without a wand, Credence was no better than a Squib. Worse, perhaps, since his magic had already festered. Wouldn’t it simply get worse with time?

“...I don’t suppose I could learn, could I?” Credence’s voice was careful.

“I…” Graves paused. He wanted to be honest. “I’m not a teacher and using someone else’s wand is incredibly hard.” Gellert Grindelwald clearly had, but Graves stuffed down that bitter thought. Grindelwald was probably one of the most powerful wizards in the world, rivaled only by Seraphina Picquery and perhaps Albus Dumbledore from Hogwarts. “You don’t...really have control over your magic and it would be too dangerous to take you to get a wand of your own right now.” Credence looked dejected and Graves hated it. “We can try.”

Try they did, with Graves carefully watching for the first sign of frustration or anger from Credence, stopping the lesson as soon as he noticed any. It was hard; Graves barely remembered his first day of charms class. It had been more than twenty years ago and he could cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ without thinking at this point. Credence struggled with control; with having faith in himself; with the innate difficulties of using anyone else’s wand. They’d worked for about 45 minutes when Graves called a halt, promising they would work on it again later. 

Credence changed back into his clothes once they were clean and Graves made soup and sandwiches again for dinner. “It has been years since I’ve done any food magic,” he apologized. “I had to double check the spells this morning. It makes things easier, but you still have to know what you’re doing.” Not having done his own grocery shopping in six months also didn’t help, but…

“I might be able to,” Credence volunteered. “I used to help Ma cook for the street children, but I can’t…” He trailed off and Graves knew he meant the magic.

“Well, I can do that. Just tell me what you need peeled or chopped or something.” On the note of magic, Credence’s clothes were going to fall apart if he kept having to wash them. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Why don’t we go and get groceries and some clothes for you?” They’d go to a No-Maj department store and grocery in a part of the city well away from the Salemers. It was as safe as it could possibly be.

“I don’t have any way to pay you back,” Credence said, ducking his head. 

“Don’t worry about it.” The salary of the Director of Magical Security was generous, covering the mortgage on his Upper West Side brownstone with ease and leaving plenty to save. Besides the occasional purchase of Dragon Barrel Brandy and spoiling his niece as much as his sister permitted, he didn’t have that many indulgences. “Not having to eat my own cooking will be more than enough repayment.”

The next day, Graves took him food shopping first and then to Macy’s, figuring Herald Square would be large enough that the crowd would give Credence some anonymity. He had to assure Credence again that he could afford the store’s prices. They bought shirts, pants, socks, a belt-- though Graves had to walk away for the moment when Credence picked up a black leather belt, remembering the one he’d found in the church. 

When they were looking for a coat, Graves caught Credence looking at a handsome single-breasted peacoat. It was a fine black wool, slim-cut with a maroon silk lining. Graves felt under its collar; the lining was flannel-backed; Credence would probably appreciate that during a New York winter that was only going to get colder. The buttons were antiqued brass with four on each cuff. It was a beautiful piece of clothing-- and the price matched. 

“Do you like that one?” Graves asked.

“Don’t need it.” Credence answered. He seemed almost guilty, moving away towards a thinner, more functional-looking coat. It was bad enough that he was letting Percival buy him this much. Something like that was just greed and pride. 

“That’s not an answer.” 

Credence hunched his shoulders. “It’s bad enough that I’m spending your money.”

Graves took the coat off the rack and handed it to him. “Humor me.”

It fit beautifully, turning Credence’s meager build into something slim and sharp. Even Credence couldn’t suppress a smile, rubbing a thumb over the design on the brass buttons. They had a curved pattern etched along the rim, giving them a faint texture against his skin. 

“Do you like it?” 

Credence nodded wordlessly again, a thing that Graves was beginning to notice happened when the other man was uncomfortable with admitting or allowing something.

“Credence, who else do I have to spend money on?” Graves asked. “I make more than I need and I already bought my niece an owl this year.” Oh, Merlin, _Izzy._ It had been five months. She must have started at Ilvermorny; she’d nearly be done her first term. Graves didn’t even know what house she was in. She would have told him-- her letters. He’d found none of her letters in his house. That supremacist bastard had been getting Izzy’s letters to her Uncle Perce. His stomach abruptly churned as he wondered if Grindelwald had written back. God. He’d write to Elaine as soon as he could. 

Graves could tell that Credence wasn’t convinced and he tried another tack. “It’ll be Christmas in three weeks. Just...call it an early present.” 

Credence was quiet for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright.” Ma never gave presents for Christmas; that wasn’t the point of it. The point was how unworthy they were of the Christ Child and his sacrifice. But he knew that people did and the pleased look on Percival’s face when he assented was worth it. Furthermore, as much as he hated to admit it, the coat was beautiful and warm and when he wore it, he almost looked like someone worth noticing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to see the letters that Graves writes to his sister? Check them out: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8791732 
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/maggieandthedragon


	5. We Don't Get to Make Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves returns to work in earnest only to find that being physically healed isn't the same thing as being completely over what happened to him. Credence and Graves have guests in the house and Newt Scamander reveals a secret Graves wishes he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: panic attack, internalized homophobia, use of a homophobic slur

Sunday passed quietly. Credence made some sort of beef stew once Graves had charmed the potatoes and carrots into peeling and dicing themselves. Graves read the paper and pretended not to notice when Credence stepped into the kitchen and prayed. They made another attempt at the Levitating Charm and failed, leading Graves to find the rest of his schoolbooks in his office and see if they were any help. While he had them out, he consulted his advanced transfiguration textbook and eventually managed to coax the couch into a passable bed. 

The next day was Monday and Graves had to go back to work. Honestly, his coworkers would start to wonder if he took another day off-- Friday had been the first day he’d taken off in nearly a year and a half. He also needed to talk to Tina Goldstein. He told Credence to make himself at home, borrow whatever books he wanted, make himself whatever he wanted to eat. The idea of leaving him alone in his house made him intensely nervous, but there really wasn’t any other option.

Work, luckily, kept him busy enough that he didn’t have a spare moment to worry about Credence. Graves needed to get back up to speed on how the landscape had changed in the past five months. The report of what Grindelwald had done to his department needed to be filed; Goldstein had to be reinstated. A officious wizard from the Foreign Affairs Division came by. Grindelwald was going to be transferred sometime in the next few weeks to Azkaban, to await trial by the International Confederation of Wizards. While the date was need-to-know, they wanted Graves to select a specific team of Aurors to manage the handoff. However, Graves himself wasn’t to take part. 

“The Ministry of Magic is….slightly miffed, shall we say, that you...or well, your impersonator tried to execute a British citizen. He is the brother of a war hero, after all,” the man sniffed. 

“I am well aware that I nearly executed Newt Scamander. I fought with Theseus,” Graves growled, even as he wrote down a list. If Foreign Relations was trying to avoid a diplomatic incident, he’d let them. “Personally, I am ‘slightly miffed’ that the lunatic wearing my face had so much access every single one of our ambassadors. He wants us revealed and a war between wizards would do the trick just as well as an obscurus.”

The man paled slightly. Graves handed him the list. “There. McIlvain should lead. Come back when you want to revamp your security protocols.” Which frankly, they _all_ needed to do. 

In the afternoon, the Research Division sent out a notice. In the past week, they’d been looking into every bit of information that was available about obscurus and their weaknesses. Given the advanced age of ‘the obscurial,’ the notice advised, it was entirely likely that it was still alive. They’d found a picture of Credence somewhere as well, and all personnel were advised to be on the lookout. Damn it. That was going to make everything more complicated and right now, housing Credence without informing MACUSA meant he was disobeying direct orders. It might even be treason. 

The news derailed Graves slightly and he almost missed the next appointment on his schedule. He was scheduled to brief his personal team of Aurors. They usually trained on new defense tactics afterwards and at least recently, that had been resisting the Imperius curse. He was running late, but as he reached the room where they had their desks, he could hear voices. He sighed, recognizing the speaker immediately. Taylor Oakhurst was a brilliant wizard, particularly skilled at Transfiguration. He could have easily earned a place in the Research Division, but he’d chosen instead to be an Auror. He was an Animagus as well, able to transform into a barn owl at will. At best, that made him an invaluable asset, especially for surveillance and coordinating operations. At worst--- and right now, it was clearly worst-- it made him a blowhard and a braggart. 

“Not sure why we’re still doing this. Most of us can shake this off at this point, except for Goldstein and she’s only hear ‘cause Graves feels bad about---”

 _“Imperio.”_ Graves hated the sickening heat of the dark magic and it nearly made him stagger on his unstable right leg. It was worse this time than it had ever been, but he needed to make his point. He walked into the room where Oakhurst stood still. He didn’t have to give the commands verbally for the curse to be effective, but he did so anyway in this particular instance. He only wanted to make this point once. 

“Put your wand on the floor.” 

Eyes glazed over, Oakhurst complied. 

“Come here.”

Oakhurst obeyed.

“Turn away from me and kneel.” 

Oakhurst obeyed. Graves rested the tip of his wand on the back of his neck, where it would be so easy to deliver a lethal curse. Only then did he break the spell binding the other Auror. Graves’ wand hand was shaking slightly and he could feel the sweat on the back of his neck. The Imperius Curse had never rattled him so much...but then again, he’d never truly been subject to its effects before.

“You can resist it, Oakhurst, because you’ve been training with your coworkers. Who warn you. Who don’t want to do you harm.” Graves’ voice was very soft and very calm. He put his wand away and looked at the others. “We need to do better. Gellert Grindelwald wore my face for five months and no one noticed. He ordered the summary execution of an Auror and a British national and no one said a word. We were extremely lucky that he was only interested in the obscurial-- whom, by the way, Goldstein was the only person to notice anything odd or worth intervening about. He delivered weekly briefings to Seraphina Picquery. Does anyone want to speculate what might have happened if he had killed or controlled her?”

There was total silence from the room. 

“We are Aurors. We don’t get to make mistakes. When we do, people die.” Casting the Imperius curse had been a bad idea. His heartbeat was racing and his stomach was churning. He could hear Grindelwald’s voice casting the spell in his mind and his shin was aching desperately. That dream-like haze… He was going to be sick. “McIlvain, run drills. No briefing today.” 

He stepped out into the hallway and leaned back against the wall, covering his mouth as if that would stop him from hyperventilating. He was sweating and he could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. 

“Sir?”

Goldstein. Shit. He didn’t want any of his subordinates seeming him like this. Voices. There were more people coming down the hallway and it was bad enough that Goldstein was already here. 

“Sir, if this is insubordinate, I’m sorry,” Goldstein said, grabbed his arm and disapparated. 

Apparition into or out of MACUSA headquarters was impossible, but within its unsecured areas, staff could apparate freely. They appeared in a supply closet; Graves had no idea where, just desperately relieved that there was no one else around as he gasped for air. 

Goldstein, bless her, didn’t say a word until he had finally regained some control of himself. “Should you be back at work yet, sir?”

“No.” Graves wiped his forehead. That was patently obvious, but the idea of staying in his house, stewing about what Grindelwald had done and how to fix it, was maddening. He’d manage. “Where are we?”

“Supply closet near the Wand Permit Office. Queenie comes here sometimes when everyone is thinking too loudly.” 

Queenie. Queenie Goldstein, the Legilimen and Tina Goldstein’s sister. Graves remembered the file. “...thank you.” 

“There's paperwork I need to sign for you anyway. Do you want to...Look, just come home with me for an hour. Get yourself together for a bit.” 

That….wasn’t a terrible idea and it would be better to talk to her about Credence Barebone away from headquarters. He picked up the paperwork from his office and followed her out of the building. When they arrived on her street, he had to suppress a sigh of frustration at having to sneak up the stairs to her building. It made sense though. If she secured her apartment the same way Graves did his house, she wouldn’t be able to apparate with him through those protections. She had to let him in manually. 

Once there, she made coffee for both of them and the warmth of the beverage helped settle him a little further. He finished filling out the paperwork for her to be reinstated and transferred to his team, then gave it to her to read and sign. “Goldstein. Do you happen to have an address for Mr. Scamander?” 

“Sir?” She glanced up from reading the papers, then frowned. “Newt and his thunderbird is the only reason the obscurus didn’t expose all of us. You can’t seriously be considering pursuing him for illegally importing magical beasts.”

“No, that’s not why.”

“Shouldn’t the Ministry have his address? Or his publisher?” 

“I…This is a bit more personal than that.” Goldstein stared at Graves for a moment and he sighed. There was apparently no way to do this without telling and hoping that her “strenuous objections” to the first time MACUSA had killed Credence meant she would help prevent a second. “Credence Barebone is alive.”

“What? How? Sir, you can’t give--”

“I don’t _want_ to give him to MACUSA. I want to help him and you told me Newt Scamander might be able to.” To hell with it. “And since you’re on my team and we’re committing treason together, you may as well call me Percival.”

“Oh.” She was silent for long moment. “Tina, then. And I’ll write to Newt.” She bit her lip. “Where is Credence?” 

“...at my house.” It honestly was a relief to be able to talk to someone about this. “He showed up; I don’t even know how he got past my security charms. Apparently Grindelwald had been talking to him almost as long as he’d been impersonating me.” 

Tina shook her head slowly. “Merlin. What for?”

“I don’t think Grindelwald realized that Credence was the obscurial. Just in its proximity and he was looking for it.”

“Thank God. If he’d realized…”

Graves didn’t answer. That particular possibility was too terrible to contemplate. 

“Can I see him?”

“Let me talk to him first,” Graves answered. “He barely trusts me as it is and if he gets frightened and loses control…”

There was another long silence. 

“You’re probably right. I’ll wait.” 

Graves nodded and stood. “I should get back. Thank you for the coffee.” He half-smiled. “And protecting my pride.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Tina promised. “Oh. Percival.” 

That still felt strange. “Yes?”

“If you hurt or betray him, I will stupefy you and throw you off a skyscraper.”

Graves stared at her for a long moment. She visibly quailed but refused to break eye contact. 

“I won’t,” he promised seriously. “Goodnight, Tina.”

“Goodnight.” 

He left. 

 

“I think she’s here.” Credence was looking out the window of Graves’ living room, watching for Tina to arrive. It had been just over a week since Graves and Tina had last talked and he wondered if she might have heard back from Scamander. Even with the fastest owl, it would take nearly four days for Tina’s letter to reach the magizoologist. He would have had to immediately write and send a response, but given the situation, that didn’t seem unlikely. Credence had been willing--even excited-- to see Tina, so Graves had invited her to dinner. He’d offered to do the cooking, wanting to let the two talk. It would probably do Credence good to have some other company. Graves hadn’t risked taking him out again, now that he knew MACUSA was searching for him. 

“She’s right on time,” Graves commented, undoing the security charms on the house and then gesturing to the bottle of champagne he had on the coffee table. It was No-Maj champagne, smuggled into the country, rather than Pinnock’s Gigglewater but he doubted anyone would mind. He didn’t like the charmed laughter the enchanted stuff provoked; it was disconcerting and undignified. Though, he reflected as he opened the door for Tina, this may also be why Elaine accused him of being no fun. 

“Come in.” He held the door for her. “Did you find the house easily?” God, that felt stilted. How long had it been since he had _entertained?_ Sophie didn’t count; you didn’t stand on ceremony with someone who had held your intestines in with one hand and dueled a dark wizard with the other. 

“I did.” Tina stepped inside, shedding her coat and handing it to the obliging coat rack. “Thanks.” 

He picked two of the glasses of champagne out of the air and handed one to Tina, the other to Credence. “Has Oakhurst given you any trouble?”

“Not unless you count making me stand on my head.”

“I don’t. He had me doing cartwheels in May.” Graves took the third coupe for himself, then noticed Credence glancing at the glass.

“It’s champagne. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want.” Between Prohibition and his mother, he shouldn’t have been surprised at Credence’s confusion. He probably should have bought something sweeter. 

“Ma always said drinking leads to vice and sin,” Credence said softly, but he didn’t put the glass down.

Tina went over to him. “Your Ma said a lot of things,” she told him, gesturing for him to sit down in one of the armchairs and taking the one next to him. Graves left the room, letting them talk. He was sure Tina wanted to make sure Credence was okay without him around and he also didn’t particularly want either of them coming into the kitchen while he was trying to make this work. Sophie or maybe Tina or one of the other woman Aurors had left a copy of _The Witch’s Friend_ in their break room and he’d torn the simplest looking food charm he could out of it. Roast chicken with carrots and potatoes used cooking charms he already knew; carving it was really going to be the issue. 

It was. The dish looked and smelled beautiful, but the carving charm seemed dangerously close to a depowered _Scindere_ hex. Graves looked at his wampus-cat hair core wand. inclined towards hexes and jinxes and went to get Credence. “Do you know how to carve a chicken?” 

“I do.”

“Excellent. Can you….” He gestured to the kitchen. 

Credence obliged and Graves looked to Tina. “Everything is ready-- we’ll have to eat in the kitchen. I don’t entertain enough for a dining room to be worth it.”

Tina glanced after Credence. “I never thought I’d be grateful for anything Gellert Grindelwald did, but he’s so much more comfortable thinking or talking about magic now.” 

“We also have that lunatic to thank for Credence being hunted by MACUSA.” 

“He mentioned that you tried to teach him the Levitation Charm. No luck?”

“Not with my wand at least.” Graves refilled his champagne. 

She sighed. “And he won’t be able to get one of his own. At least not legally and not in the U.S.”

“I know.” Graves glanced at the kitchen. “I don’t want to be the one to tell him that the only thing he’s ever asked me for is the one thing he can’t have.” 

“He needs to know, but…you might wait until Newt can separate the obscurus from him.” She withdrew a wrinkled letter from her pocket. “I heard back. He took the first ship he could find-- the same night he got my letter. It will take him to Philadelphia rather than New York, but he’ll take the train up here. He says he’ll be here on the 15th.”

“Does he need a place to stay or has he booked a hotel already?” 

Tina glanced down and blushed faintly. “He’s…staying with Queenie and I.” 

Oh. Well then. Graves deliberately didn’t pursue that line of questioning. Tina’s personal life was her affair. “Let me know when he arrives.”

“Speaking of--- houseguests,” Tina made a vague gesture. “Credence asked me about Sophie McIlvain. Are you and she--?”

Graves shook his head. “No. We’re very good friends, but she reminds me a little too much of my sister.” It was a safe response and he half-smiled to cover his discomfort at the question. Why was Credence asking if he was courting Sophie? 

“It’s carved,” Credence said, returning to living room. 

“Excellent. Shall we?” He gestured Tina into the kitchen. 

Dinner was frankly much better than anything Graves cooked had any right to be, though the fact that they’d finished the bottle of champagne likely helped a little bit. Graves was honestly starting to be slightly fond of Tina. She was prickly, yes, but thoughtful. She was patient and good with Credence. He’d let her talk to Credence, explain who Newt Scamander was, that he might be able to help. Both of them had expected it to take more convincing, but Credence had only asked one question. 

“Does that mean I won’t hurt people any more?” 

“You’d be in control of your magic so no, you wouldn’t hurt people unless you actually meant to,” Tina answered.

“Then yes. I want to.” 

 

By the time Scamander arrived on the 15th, Credence and Graves had settled into a strange sort of routine. When Graves left in the morning, he’d do so as quietly as possible. Sleeping in was a new sort of pleasure for Credence; waking up at his leisure, warm with the sun already risen and filtering through the curtains was something that he’d never been able to do before. He’d mentioned it to Graves precisely once and since then, the man had gone out of his way to let him sleep. 

During the day, Credence would read the newly delivered copy of _The New York Ghost_ once it appeared on the hearth in a puff of purple flame or Grave’s history of magic textbook. There was so much to learn and to understand if he wanted to live in this world. Graves, for his part, didn’t have the heart to discourage him. He was going to find a way for Credence to have what he wanted. He just…didn’t have any good idea how. It would be easier once Scamander came. If he could get rid of the obscurus, then maybe Credence stood a chance. 

Graves found himself leaving work on time for the first time in years. When he got home, Credence sometimes would have started dinner, sometimes not, in which case they would make it together. After dinner, they would talk about the news or whatever Credence had read in the history textbook. When Credence started to get agitated, not having left the apartment for nearly two weeks, Graves found a wizarding chess set buried in an old closet and taught him how to play. 

Today was different though. Tina had let him know that Scamander had arrived the night before and that they’d come by the house late that evening. Dinner was tenser than normal. “What if he can’t help me?” Credence asked softly, staring at his hands. He’d barely eaten. 

“Then we’ll try something else.” Graves tried to sound confident. He had no idea what he would do if Scamander couldn’t help. 

Credence nodded, a gesture at this point Graves was definitively sure meant discomfort with the assent. “...is it alright if I’m not hungry?” 

“Of course. Put your plate in the refrigerator; maybe you’ll want it for lunch tomorrow.” 

Graves charmed the dishes to do themselves, then went into the living room, taking the Dragon Barrel Brandy from the end table. There was a bottle of sherry there now too. He doubted Tina drank anything as strong as brandy and Credence definitely wouldn’t. 

“Does that help if you’re nervous?” Credence asked softly, watching him pour a few fingers of the brandy into a snifter. 

Graves glanced at it. “A little. Half of it is association rather than the alcohol; it’s always something I’ve done to relax.” He offered the glass to Credence. “Do you want to try it?”

Credence took the glass, but wrinkled his nose, coughing even at the smell and handed it back. “I’m sorry.” 

Graves gave him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. It’s an acquired taste.” The knock on the door interrupted them and Graves went to let the two new arrivals in. “Tina. Mr. Scamander.” 

Scamander looked uncomfortably like his older brother, though he was slighter, more wiry. They had the same very blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, albeit in an unkempt mop. He made eye contact just long enough to shake Graves’ hand but no longer. Theseus had mentioned that his younger brother was a little awkward, more comfortable around beasts than people. 

“Please come in. Sherry? Brandy? Coffee?” 

“Sherry, please,” Tina answered after a moment’s hesitation and only after spotting that Graves had a glass in his hand as well. 

“Coffee would be lovely,” Newt answered, but it was clear his attention was elsewhere. He stepped partially towards Credence but left a large gap between them. “Credence. Do you remember me? My name is Newt Scamander.”

“I remember you. You…you tried to keep them from hurting me.”

“Yes. I’m so terribly sorry I couldn’t.” Scamander moved imperceptibly closer. “I’m going to try and help you again. If you’ll let me.”

Graves left his glass on the end table and went to start coffee and by the time he returned, Scamander was standing a regular distance from Credence, apparently having put him at ease.

“Mr. Scamander.” He may as well say it. “I also should apologize. For what happened at Headquarters.” 

“There’s no need.” Scamander said. “I was a little surprised honestly. Given how fondly my brother speaks of you, I had expected a warmer reception.” 

Graves felt his stomach drop. Of all the things that Scamander could have brought up right then, Theseus! “So you know.” His voice was flat. 

Scamander withdrew somewhat. “...Theseus is not always the most discreet.”

Damnit. Goddamnit. Graves turned away, covering his mouth as he felt his face flush red. He was humiliated. “So...about what percentage of England knows that your brother and I…” God, he couldn’t even think of a word. 

“Were involved during the war.” God, he was being humored. He could hear the delicacy in Scamander’s voice. “He’s not that foolish, Mr. Graves. You're not at risk. But...most of our family.” 

“Merlin’s beard.” How many was that? 

“Wait. Graves, I mean, Percival, you’re…”

“Porpentina Goldstein, if you say one word, I’ll make you wish you’d stayed demoted.” His voice cracked like a whip. 

“Tina, leave him be,” Scamander said behind him. “I’m…so very sorry, Mr. Graves.” 

God, the idiot sounded sincere too. He probably hadn’t meant anything by it either. With a brother like Theseus, so confident about it, so at ease... 

“Let’s go check on that coffee,” Scamander said softly. “Tina. Credence.” 

He heard footsteps leaving the room and couldn’t help but appreciate the solitude--but he wasn’t alone. Credence appeared in his peripheral vision and handed him the glass of brandy he’d set down earlier. “Here.” 

God, that small gesture right now. “Thanks,” he said and couldn’t even summon embarrassment at how choked his voice sounded. With Credence’s upbringing, what could he possibly be thinking?

“So you’re a faggot,” Credence said and although his voice was neutral, Graves winced like the younger man had hit him. 

“T---that’s not really the word,” he managed to get out. 

Credence looked at him quizzically. “That’s not the word?” God, of course he wouldn’t know anything better.

“It’s a very cruel word. Though there aren’t many words that aren’t cruel.” Graves just felt tired. “Some people have started saying ‘gay’ though. But yes. I am. ” He glanced at Credence, surprised that the younger man hadn’t left with Newt and Tina, that he didn’t look repulsed. “...do you think I’m damned, Credence?” 

Credence looked at him for a moment. “Ma would,” he finally answered slowly. “For being a f-- for being gay. For doing magic. For drinking.” A small inexplicable smile touched his lips. “Maybe for wearing scarves. I’m not sure.” 

It took Graves a long moment to process that Credence was making a _joke_ and he suddenly couldn’t contain his laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, but even the faintest attempt of humor combined with the relief that Credence was still here, still smiling at him, trying to make him feel better, despite what he had just heard made him laugh until his sides hurt. 

“Thank you,” he finally got out, touching Credence’s arm. “Thank you. I...I really needed that.”

Credence smiled, then suddenly stepped closer and kissed Graves’ cheek shyly. “I don’t think you’re bad,” he said. He left the room, joining Scamander and Tina in the kitchen, leaving Graves touching his cheek and staring after him, astonished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tumble at maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com. Want to see Tina's letter to Newt and vice-versa? Let me know there or in the comments. [EDIT: Oh, I did it anyway: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8791732/chapters/20193934] 
> 
> Next chapter probably not until Monday-- weekend travel plans.


	6. Treacherous Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gets some field notes on the obscurus. Graves is an idiot and a bastard (just ask him) but he gets it right in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: jealousy, some more internalized homophobia? But not as bad as last chapter.

The rest of the evening was less of an unmitigated disaster. By the time Graves had gotten control of himself again (and spent probably more time than he wanted to admit wondering what _precisely_ Credence had meant by that kiss), Credence, Tina and Scamander were sitting at the kitchen table with sherry and coffee and Scamander was peppering Credence with questions and taking detailed notes.

“I apologize, Tina,” he said softly, joining at the table. “I lost my temper.” This still felt uncomfortable. The number of people who knew about him had literally doubled in the span of five minutes. Before it had been Theseus, Elaine and well, technically Ethan Braddock from his fifth year in Ilvermorny but that barely counted any more. Even his parents and Sophie didn’t know. Now he’d added a scarred obscurial who barely knew what to call him, one of his subordinates and a man with whom he wasn’t even on a first name basis. 

“Please don’t apologize. I should have realized that not everyone is as open about these things as my brother,” Scamander said. “It’s not right of him to talk so freely about you if you don’t want him to. I’ll write to him tonight, if you’d like.” 

“...please.” 

“I think I’ve gotten as many notes as I can without some...actual field work,” Scamander added. “I don’t suppose you can shift in and out of the obscurus on purpose, can you?” he asked Credence. 

“I...I can try,” Credence answered. He was visibly anxious. 

“Not here,” Graves commented. “The Meadowlands?” 

“Minimize who can see him and any potential damage,” Tina agreed. “Newt, do you really need to see this?”

“It--it didn’t work last time,” Scamander admitted. “I separated the obscurus, but I couldn’t save the girl. I don’t know why. If I know more about the obscurus, about Credence, I’ll be able to perfect it.” 

This was new information. “So you don’t have any surety that this will work,” Graves said. This could kill Credence, though remaining an obscurial was likely to kill him as well. 

“Well, no, but I won’t be trying anything until I’m sure it will work. Credence doesn’t appear to be in any crisis, so there’s a bit less urgency. I’ll ensure that he’s safe.” Scamander made eye contact with Graves for perhaps only the second time that night. “I will. I promise.” 

“I want to try,” Credence said softly again, startling the others at the table. He glanced at Graves. “Unless we do this, I’m going to spend the rest of my life hiding in your house, aren’t I?” 

“Yes,” Graves answered reluctantly. It was more than possible; it was probable.

“I want to try,” Credence repeated. “Let’s go to the Meadowlands.” He stood as if no more conversation was necessary, going into the other room to fetch his coat. 

Graves glanced at Scamander, who shrugged. “His opinion matters most,” he concluded, standing as well as he tucked away his notes and followed the other man into the living room. When Graves and Tina caught him, Credence had shrugged on the black peacoat and was fastening the antiqued buttons.

“Nice coat,” Scamander added quietly. Credence straightened somewhat with pleasure or maybe pride. It startled Graves again. Standing upright, Credence wasn’t nearly as small as he’d originally thought. He was still noticeably shorter than Graves, but only by a few inches, half a head at most. He was beginning to think he’d underestimated Credence somewhat. Yes, the other man’s past was the stuff of nightmares, but it must have made him astonishingly resilient and equally astonishingly determined to leave it behind. 

 

When they arrived in the Meadowlands, Credence was less startled by the cold wind or the disorientating sensation of suddenly being in another place. The coat did help. It was as warm as Percival’s had been the first time they came here, but without the gaps where the oversized garment had let in the winter air. 

Percival. Percival was a --- was gay. The knowledge simultaneously thrilled, appalled and confused Credence. How could someone so good be like that? His Ma had insisted--- _“Your Ma told you many things, Credence. You already know some of them aren’t true. You’ll have to decide for yourself the rest of what you believe.”_ \-- Tina had told him that and she was right. He knew already that his Ma had been wrong about witches and wizards. Could she maybe have been wrong about this? 

Newt (he’d insisted on being called that) had a brother who was gay too. Newt was also good and kind and wanted to help and didn’t see anything wrong with his brother or Percival. But Percival seemed to think there was something wrong with himself. The look on his face, his voice when Newt had talked about his brother was almost as ashamed as Credence felt about himself. And it hadn’t been right. It had hurt like a physical thing, like being struck across the palm, to see Percival that stricken and he’d wanted to do anything to make that look go away. Percival was good and kind and strong and deserved whatever made him happy. Didn’t he?

The others had wands pointed at the sky, forming some kind of barrier. He hated that the precaution was necessary. “Now?” he asked, once he saw Newt put away his wand and take out his notebook.

“Yes. Whenever you’re ready, Credence.” 

He didn’t even know how to do this. How did you deliberately lose control, when losing control was so terrifying, so dangerous? Even the silvery glimmering barrier that protected the others from him wasn’t enough reassurance. This always happened when he was angry or scared, hurt or betrayed. He reached for a bad memory, but now that he was deliberately reaching for one, they all slipped through his grasp. He looked to the others, as if they would be able to help, but only Percival answered, misunderstanding.

“The barrier will hold. And Newt doesn’t need you to shift fully. It’s alright!” he called. 

The humiliation on Percival’s face had been upsetting. It was recent and raw and as much as he didn’t want to, Credence dwelt on it. He had been able to tell that something was wrong as soon as Newt had mentioned Theseus. Theseus Scamander. He wondered what he looked like--- like Newt, probably, but stronger, taller, someone that Percival would want and admire. He wondered if Theseus had ever come to New York after the war, or if Percival went to London. He could picture the two men sitting on Percival’s couch, drinking brandy and talking softly, sharing secrets, doing...other things as well. Jealousy wormed through his stomach and his vision was starting to blur. This was wrong; he didn’t own Percival or have any claim on him besides the man’s freely given promises. He still couldn’t help hating the mere idea of Theseus Scamander and the ugly feelings seemed to be bringing the obscurus out so he dwelt on them. He was a monster, a jealous, pathetic monster and it was---

“Credence. Credence! That’s enough!” Newt’s voice cut through the haze and Credence gratefully pushed the thoughts away with a soft sob. He glanced up, able to see now the inky black smoke that hung around, even as it retracted with a chill that made him feel tired and nauseous. 

Tina brought down the barriers and the three others made their way over to him. “Are you alright?” she asked. 

He nodded, though he was shivering now, the coat not equipped to deal with the internal chill of the obscurus. He felt tired and weak and ashamed. “Can we go home?” 

“Of course.” Both Tina and Percival extended their arms to him simultaneously and without looking up, Credence took hers. He pleaded fatigue when they got back, insisted he was alright when Percival asked and finally, mercifully was alone. 

The living room was pitch-black and he curled up in a ball like he used to do in his bed at the church. It wasn’t for warmth this time; there was a thick woven comforter that kept out the winter chill, but he was futilely hoping it would relieve the ache in his chest. He’d felt like this before the Aurors nearly killed him in the basement of City Hall, but it had faded when he learned when that Mr. Graves was deceitful, a liar who had stolen Percival’s face. Now it was back, however and the fact that he couldn’t deny it made him shake with tears of frustration and despair. 

He wanted Percival. And the bitterest irony was now, now that he knew Percival _could_ want him in return, he was certain that he didn’t and never would. 

 

For the first time in nearly three weeks, Graves was not looking forward to the weekend. He left the office on time; it was starting to become a habit, but he opted to only apparate halfway home and walk the rest. He was resolutely ignoring the fact that even with the walking stick he had acquired, ten blocks was going to be hell on his right leg. Credence had been distant since the last time they went the Meadowlands; choosing instead to apparate back to the house with Tina. He’d been quiet during dinners, though responding when Graves asked about what he had read and distracted when they played chess. Graves nearly always won anyway; chess was a complicated game to learn, but he’d been beating Credence more handily than usual. He wondered if it was because of what Scamander had said. It made sense. As much as Credence had told him that he ‘wasn’t bad,’ reason and compassion could probably only hold off deeply indoctrinated fear for so long. 

He should consider the possibility that Credence would need to live somewhere else. Hunted or not, if he wasn’t comfortable sharing a house with Graves, then he shouldn’t have to. He hated the idea though. He gotten used to having someone to talk to when he came home, to share an actual hot meal with rather than whatever he threw together for himself as he read the paper. He liked Credence too, oddly enough. The young man had a sweet thoughtfulness to him that Mary Lou Barebone hadn’t managed to beat out and his quietness had started to move from anxiety to a resilient calm. 

Credence was remarkably resilient. It astonished Graves that the younger man could still find joy in anything, that his gorgeous face had still lit up in laughter at the sight of the blue and gold sparks--

Shit. Hearing his own thoughts made Graves stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk, much to the disgruntlement of the people around him. “You have got to be kidding…” He’d recognized that he thought Credence was attractive for some time; soft brown eyes over high cheekbones and a build that was moving from gaunt to slim. But he hadn’t thought--- Nonsense. Like he hadn’t noticed how much pleasure he’d gotten seeing Credence in that coat, watching him smile? Or from when Credence used his first name? He was an idiot. An idiot who was very good at ignoring what his treacherous heart wanted because that was the only way someone like him got to be Director of Magical Security. 

God. A man sixteen years his junior. Scarred and abused and betrayed, hunted by the very organization he worked for. Who was living in his house and dependent on him for his safety, for his survival. Forget an idiot. He was a bastard. Graves started walking again, suddenly tired and feeling the cold seep in through his coat even as his shin started to ache. He leaned a little more heavily on the walking stick. 

By the time reached home, his leg was throbbing and the pain had cleared his head somewhat. He would keep his promises--- and keep his silence. Eventually when they could free Credence from the obscurus, when MACUSA didn’t see him as a threat, he wouldn’t need to rely on Graves as much. He’d get a wand, learn magic and there would be some beautiful thing his age that he could court and maybe marry. Credence deserved that much. And Graves? Graves had gotten very good at ignoring what he wanted. Doing it one more time wouldn’t break him. 

When he got home, Credence jumped up in surprise from one of the armchairs. “...you walked home?” He looked pointedly at the walking stick. “Should you have?”

“No,” Graves admitted frankly. He slipped out of his coat and scarf and handed it to the rack. God, his shin hurt. 

“You’re limping.” 

“Yes.” He was being willfully obtuse and he knew it. He pulled off his tie and blazer, draping them over the back of one of the armchairs. It didn’t smell like Credence had started dinner, so he started to head towards the kitchen. 

Credence caught his arm. “Please go sit down,” he asked. “I’ll take care of dinner."

Graves couldn’t keep back the half-smile. Of course Credence wasn’t letting him limp around. “You win.” He limped over to the armchair and sat down. 

Credence went to the end table and poured him a snifter of brandy. “I’ll bring you the paper in a moment. It’s in the kitchen.”

God, he was too good and for a second Graves almost reached for him before he caught himself, turning it into an awkward clasp of Credence’s elbow. “Thanks.” He took the brandy from him and let the younger man go. He was an idiot and a bastard and he would keep his promises if it killed him. 

He could hear Credence moving about in the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans, the refrigerator opening and closing. Then there was a knock at the door and Graves frowned, levering himself up and limping over to the door. He didn’t bother with the walking stick for this short of a distance and paused at the door to cast concealment charm across the kitchen entryway before opening it. Sophie stood there in a shimmery silver dress that came just to just over her knees. Matching silver satin gloves reached up past her elbow. Her blond hair was swept up into some sort of elaborate bun, pinned with charmed silver pins that glittered and twinkled like actual stars. There was some sort of heady mix of rose, vanilla and sandalwood coming off her skin and it was obvious even to Graves that this was not normally how Sophie dressed for work. 

“Hello?” 

She laughed. “Oakhurst bet you’d forgotten.” 

“Forgotten what?”

“The department’s holiday party.” She grinned. “You know, _you_ never said you wouldn’t go, so I thought I would stop by.” She touched his arm. “C’mon. I know you can jitterbug.”

“If I recall correctly, I was not actually in control of my own body when I did that,” Graves answered. He glanced down at her gloved hand on his arm and had a sudden, intense memory of doing exactly the same to Credence not five minutes before. 

Shit.

“C’mon, Percival. Please?” Sophie said, glancing up at him. 

He kissed her. _Please. Please just once._ Sophie was beautiful and smart and absolutely everything society and his parents and MACUSA would have wanted him to want. Just once, if he could feel just once from kissing her even half of what hearing Credence laugh had made him feel… He faltered in it, thinking of Credence in the kitchen, maybe already fetching the newspaper and turning around to see this. Of course, there was nothing. He didn’t feel anything besides a vague distaste and a growing sense of guilt and he never would. 

He let go of her gently. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

She gave him a half-hearted smile. “That was the nicest rejection I’ve ever gotten.” There was a moment where it was clear she was struggling to maintain her composure. “But you were thinking about someone else, weren’t you.” 

Graves winced. “It was that obvious?”

“Just a little. It’s fine. I’ll see you on Monday.” She turned to walk down the stoop.

“Sophie.” She stopped. “Tell me how I can make this up to you.” 

Her eyes were a little shiny. “Percival. Just go kiss whoever you were thinking about. It’s alright. You’ve gone through too much to be alone.” She took out her wand and apparated away. 

God. Graves went back inside, shutting the door behind him. He was an idiot and a bastard and Sophie was a saint. He waved his hand to cancel the concealment charm and exactly as he had feared, Credence was standing there holding the newspaper. 

“Why did you do that?” he asked quietly. The calm, almost sad neutrality in his voice just made Graves feel worse. 

“...I shouldn’t have.” That wasn’t an answer and Credence deserved honesty. “I was being a fool. I just hoped that once I would...feel something. Be attracted.” 

“Did you? Feel anything?” Credence came over to him, setting the newspaper down on the end table between the two armchairs. 

Graves shook his head. “Nothing. It’s not surprising.”

“It won’t ever change, will it.” It didn’t sound like a question when Credence said it. He was standing close now and Graves blinked at him, a little confused. They were still talking about him, right?

“I don’t think so. It’s been twenty years and…”

“Were you thinking about Theseus Scamander?”

The question threw him and he blinked. It was so unlike Credence to interrupt him. “What?” 

“She said you were thinking about someone. Were you thinking about Theseus Scamander?” The question was insistent. Credence was standing so close, looking straight up at him. 

Graves shook his head. “Credence, I’ve not seen Theseus Scamander in a decade.” 

Credence reached up and touched his cheek. “Tell me not to be afraid.” 

God, Credence was trembling. Graves could feel it through his skin.This was such a terrible idea but Graves was finding it harder and harder to deny what he wanted. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, resting a hand on Credence’s hip. “Please. Don’t be afraid.” 

Credence kissed him. It was featherlight, a ghost of a kiss and it took all of Graves’ willpower to stay still, not to pull him closer. He barely wanted to breathe, so afraid of breaking the absolute fragile trust that Credence had placed in him. He would be still; he would not push or ask or do anything that might spook the scared young man who slowly, as if he might be damning them both, was kissing him. 

When they broke apart, Credence blinked up at him, a little dazed, still faintly anxious but Graves couldn’t help the foolish, incredulous grin spreading across his face. He cupped Credence’s cheek in his palm. “Hey.” 

“Was that right?” Credence asked.

Graves wasn’t sure if Credence meant if the kiss was right in terms of execution or ethics, but the question sobered him. “That was wonderful,” he answered. “But Credence, you don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t understand,” Credence asked. Why wouldn’t he want this? Someone this strong, this good, this kind? If his Ma was right, he was already damned for so many different reasons: for having magic, for murder, for even wanting Percival to begin with. Why not for this too? 

“I’m thirty-eight. I’m nearly sixteen years older than you.” Even as Percival spoke, his thumb kept moving back and forth on Credence’s cheek. The skin there was slightly rough, rasping against skin and Credence closed his eyes, leaning into it. “And...if you can be with a woman, one your own age, that’ll be better.”

Percival clearly didn’t understand. Someone his age? Credence wasn’t good at disagreeing; insisting on going to the Meadowlands with Newt and Tina three days ago had been a terrifying act of defiance, but he needed to make him understand. “When you found me in your living room, you didn’t know me. You could have turned me in, but you gave me a place to sleep, to stay, a really nice coat. You’re trying to help me get rid of the obscurus. I don’t want someone my age. I want the person who did those things for me.”

“Being with me will cost you,” Percival protested softly.

“Cost me? Percival, I don’t have anything else to lose besides you.”

“Merlin,” Percival looked away and his face was flushed. “I…” He looked back and his eyes were wet, but he was smiling. “Damnit. You win.” 

It was like a dam had burst in Credence’s mind, like the obscurus tearing itself free but joy this time, pure incredulous joy. He kissed him again, going up on his toes to do it. Credence’s joy was contagious, irrepressible--- and maybe a little too exuberant. 

“Easy, easy!” Graves protested even as he laughed against Credence’s mouth. His long-suffering right leg wobbled once, twice, and finally buckled, spilling them backwards onto the transfigured couch-bed.

“Did I hurt you?” Credence touched his face anxiously.

Graves shook his head. He gave a wry smile. “You did tell me to sit down, after all.”

Credence laughed softly. “I did,” he admitted.

God, Graves loved that sound. He wrapped an arm around Credence, pulling him closer to kiss him again. It was easier this time, less fraught. He ran a hand through Credence’s hair and the shorter, downy part where it was growing out tickled his palm. The younger man gave a soft breathy sigh in response and Graves couldn’t resist the temptation of the slightly parted mouth, brushing his tongue along Credence’s lower lip, asking for entry. Credence gave it, eyes closed, a hand sliding up to totally ruin Graves’ carefully combed hair.

Nothing had changed. MACUSA was still hunting Credence; Graves was still much too old, with too much power. This was still a terrible decision, but for once, just once, Graves thought he might forgive his treacherous heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sophie is wearing Chanel No. 5, only released in New York City in 1924. 
> 
> Also, *cough* Rating change to explicit next chapter. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments or hit me up on tumblr. https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/


	7. Would Have Been His Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence surprises Graves. Twice. Graves talks about his past, and realizes the damage that Grindelwald has done to Credence's ability to trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Explicit sexual content

“How do you always smell so good?” Credence murmured against Graves’ mouth. They were sprawled on the the transfigured couch-bed, Graves’ arm around the younger man’s waist. 

Graves kissed a line down Credence’s jaw. “It’s cologne. You’re welcome to use it if you like it that much.” 

“I don’t think it would be as nice.” Credence could still smell it faintly on Percival’s skin, woodsmoke and spice with a deep warmth behind it that he was pretty sure was Percival rather than any kind of scent. He ran his hands through the other man’s totally disheveled hair, the central sweep dangling in loose strands over the undercut. It was almost addictive to suddenly be able to touch Percival; the yearning that he had felt before had returned and intensified when met with goodness. He wanted more of it, even as admitting the desire made him blush with unease. He picked at the button on the other man’s collar. “Percival.”

“What is it?” Graves noticed his expression and laughed slightly. “I am still dressed for work, aren’t I?” He kissed Credence again quickly. “You’ll have to sit up.” Honestly, wearing that many layers with another body pressed on top of his wasn’t particularly comfortable.

Credence complied, sliding off him to one side of the couch-bed, letting Graves sit up. Graves shed his vest and shirt, leaving just the thin undershirt. He could feel Credence watching him. 

“This too?” he asked. 

Credence nodded. “Please.” 

Graves complied, glancing at him a little wryly. “Well?” Credence was visibly looking him over and it made it hard not to blush. 

“Nothing.” Credence reddened. 

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Not with me.” Graves pulled Credence close again as he laid back down, taking the other man with him. Credence was warm, lying on his chest, half-kneeling astride him. 

“Do you promise?” Credence asked, glancing up at him. It felt embarrassing to be on top of Percival like this, their bodies pressed together. It made his heart pound though too, and he couldn’t help sliding his fingers over the other man’s chest. 

“God, yes. I promise. Now lean down so I can kiss you.” Graves knew he still had that stupid ludicrous grin on his face. He’d let go. None of it mattered right now. Sophie’s hurt feelings, the danger they were courting, the sane and rational reasons why this was probably a bad idea, they had all gone in the same steel box in his brain where he normally kept his desires. He’d pay the piper later. Right now, Credence was right here, in his arms and his mouth was warm and damp and that was all that was important.

Graves brushed a hand over Credence’s jaw, his cheek, through the brutally cropped black hair and down his back. Part of the his shirt had come untucked and Graves couldn’t resist the opportunity, tugging it away enough to rest his hand against Credence’s side, just against his abdomen. The younger man sighed softly and he pressed into the kiss, lips parting a little bit more. 

Percival’s hand on his side was warm and Credence couldn’t help but press into it, into him. His face was flushed; he could feel it and his skin felt hot and uncomfortable. Percival sucked on Credence’s lower lip and the damp friction and pull of it made him squirm on top of the other man. He was so hot, almost dizzy with it and all he wanted was more, more of Percival’s touch, his skin. 

Credence’s kisses had gotten nearly desperate, pressing into Graves enough that he put a hand on the other man’s shoulder to steady him. He could feel the very top of Credence’s hipbone where his hand rested on his side, just over his waistband and his thumb moved back and forth, back and forth. He loved the way Credence was starting to pant against his mouth, to squirm and his hips rolled back against the younger man almost in an instinctive response. 

Credence _whimpered._

The sound sent an electric shock of desire straight through Graves and he fisted a hand in the younger man’s shirt, fighting for restraint. Credence was only twenty-two. Twenty-two and he’d probably never done any of this before. Graves broke the kiss, kissing a line down his throat, brushing his tongue over the hollow at the base of his throat. His hips pushed back any time Credence squirmed and the younger man’s mouth was right by his ear then. The soft sounds of desire were making it impossible for Graves to breathe and he could feel his own body start to react. 

“Percival.” Credence’s voice was barely audible, hoarse with desire and residual embarrassment. He barely even knew what he was asking for. He was so flushed; God, he was hard against Percival’s hip. He flinched at the realization even as he couldn’t help but squirm against the other man. “Percival, please.”

“I can do something about that,” Graves breathed the offer against his throat. He slid his hand from his hip to top of Credence’s thigh and his fingers brushed near the other man’s fly. “Do you want me to?” 

Credence didn’t answer at first. He looked away, unable to make eye contact , but he finally, mutely nodded. 

Not enough. Graves knew what that meant. He pulled his hand away, reaching up to touch Credence’s face, gently turning it back. “Don’t just nod and say nothing; I know what that means.” Their noses and foreheads were almost touching now. “If you want me to, look at me and say so. Don’t humor me, Credence. Not right now.” 

Credence swallowed. “I…” He started to answer but settled for kissing him again, pressing into it with a soft sound of desire and frustration. Graves put his hand back on his hip where it had been. He got lost in the kiss again and it was only few minutes later when Credence spoke again. “I want you to,” he said, squirming more noticeably against him, panting with desire. “I do. Please.” 

“Of course.” Grave kissed him again and sucked on his lower lip until he heard Credence whimper, then pushed on his shoulders. “Sit back for me for a little.” 

“Okay.” Credence obeyed dazedly, panting slightly as he sat up. The younger man was gorgeous; his lips were swollen from kissing; his cheeks were flushed and even his short hair was tousled and unkempt. 

“Merlin, you should see yourself right now,” Graves breathed as he unfastened Credence’s belt and pulled it free. 

Credence went rigid and a look of total terror crossed his face. 

“Credence, what---shit.” Graves realized what he was holding in his hands and how that must look, especially compounded with how anxious Credence already was. The sudden understanding felt being doused in ice water. He let go of the belt, shoving it to one side, off the bed. 

Credence seemed to have come back to himself somewhat, but he was hunched and withdrawn. His arms wrapped around himself protectively. “Percival?”

“I’m so sorry.” Graves pulled him close and rolled them both onto their sides, the opposite direction that he had shoved the belt so that his body was between Credence and it. “I am so sorry.” He kissed the top of his head. “I would never. I swear to you, I would never hurt you.” 

“I-I know,” Credence said shakily, pressing against his chest. “I just….I saw it and I was back there and God, she would beat me so much if she saw me like this…”

“It’s alright.” Graves stroked his hair. “You’re safe. I promise. No one is ever going to hurt you again.” He kissed his temple. “I’m sorry. I should have thought.”

Credence didn’t answer him, but at the very least pressed his face against his neck, trembling. Graves kept one hand around his waist and stroked his hair with the other until he could hear Credence’s breathing finally start to steady. 

“I’m sorry,” Credence said again, shifting from where he was pressed against his chest. 

“Don’t be.” Graves sighed. He had to address this. “Credence, no one should hurt you. What your mother did was wrong.”

“But I was bad. I--”

“Doesn’t matter.” Graves interrupted him firmly. “No one gets to hurt you. Not your mother, not me, not anyone. I need you to believe that.” 

“I’ll try.” 

It was enough for now and changing location, topics might help Credence settle a little bit further. “It’s late. Sandwiches?” 

Credence nodded shakily. “Okay.” 

Graves kissed Credence’s forehead one last time before he slid off the bed and fished his wand out of his vest pocket. “C’mon.” 

In the kitchen, Graves started soup and sandwiches, but jumped slightly when he felt Credence’s hand on his back, tracing the long scar that went from close to his spine to just over his hip bone. He couldn’t hold back the shiver, skin still sensitized from earlier.

“What happened?” Credence asked.

“A dark wizard. Two, actually. Siblings. Gaspard and Ariadne Duxellois. Sophie and I went up to help the Aurors in Boston. No-Majs were disappearing; we suspected there was magic involved. We didn’t realize that there were two of them when we tracked them to their house. The Boston Aurors went in the front and Sophie and I were just supposed to be covering the back exit. The Aurors in front caught the sister but the brother came out the back and caught us off guard.” He touched the scar. “It’s called the Rending Curse. I nearly died. I would have if Sophie hadn’t been there. The Boston Aurors told me that by the time they realized there was fighting going around in the back of the house that I was on the ground and Sophie was trying to keep me from bleeding out with one hand and fending off the brother with the other.” 

“I’m sorry,” Credence said and his hands slid over Graves’ bare skin, the length of the scar.

“It was six years ago.” Graves gave a wry half-smile. “First year I was the Director of Magical Security too. Picquery was furious, told me I wasn’t allowed to die right after she’d gone through all the work of appointing me.”

“Picquery. She’s the President. You can have women presidents?”

“We have a black woman president,” Graves answered, gesturing the sandwiches over to the table. 

“....but you still don’t like gay people.” 

“That’s…” Different. How was it different? So many of the No-Maj prejudices were patently ridiculous; why did wizards cling to that particular one? So immersed in his own culture, he’d not really ever thought about it. “...I don’t know.” 

The soup was hot now as well and it drifted over to the table. Graves gestured for Credence to come eat, then sighed. “We should probably talk now that we’re not, um. Distracted.”

Credence turned red. “...yes."

“I need you to know that you do not have to do this,” Graves started. “I meant what I said in the Meadowlands and this---” he gestured between them. “This doesn’t change that. Whether you want this or not, I’ll keep you safe; I’ll find a way for you to be free.”

“I do.” Credence was staring at his sandwich, pushing it around on the plate. “It’s just…”

Graves felt his stomach twist at Credence’s hesitation. This was such a new possibility and still, he wanted so badly for it to work. “Just what?” 

“This is new. And half the time I’m still worried it’s wrong.” He glanced up at him, biting his lip. “Is it alright that I’m scared?”

Graves tried to conceal that sigh of relief. “Of course. Just….will you talk to me when you’re scared?” He shrugged. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out.” 

“Alright.” 

Graves pushed some of his straggling hair out of his eyes. “Do you understand a relationship like this is taboo in the wizarding world too? We won’t get arrested if people find out, not like a No-Maj might, but I’ll certainly lose my job. It will be a scandal.”

Credence glanced up at him. “I’m not a child.” His voice was a little flat. “I know what happens to the people the world hates. Maybe better than you.” He didn’t like disagreeing with anyone, let alone Percival, but he was neither a fool nor a child. He’d seen his mother whip a crowd into a frenzy of violence; he’d felt the brunt of her hatred. 

Graves winced. “I’m sorry. You’re probably right.” Attracted to the wrong people or not, he had been born into one of America’s oldest and purest magic bloodlines and he had inherited that wealth, and social standing. “I just want to make sure you understand the kind of decision you’re making.”

“Couldn’t all that happen anyway?” Credence asked, gesturing to mean the social fallout of being discovered. “You’re so careful; you’ve asked me not to leave the house. You would be arrested if they found out I was here. Wouldn’t that cost your job? Cause a scandal?” 

“...yes.” How had Credence suddenly end up running this conversation? 

“So I wouldn’t be making any stupider of a decision than you already did.” 

Graves was literally speechless. “I…” He shook his head and chuckled. “I cannot believe you just called me stupid to my face.”

Credence quailed. “I…”

“No. No. It’s fine. It’s probably good for me.” He’d underestimated Credence again. His sharpness, his power, his resilience. The other man was intoxicatingly complex, alternately vulnerable and sharp, quailing and determined, haunted and willing to joke. “I have a bad tendency to run roughshod over other people’s opinions.” It was a thing he would have to be careful about, incredibly careful about with Credence.

Credence shrugged. “I like you. I like...touching you.” God, he couldn’t look at Percival to say it, to admit it. The brief flare of confidence that his anger about being treated like a foolish child had faded. He wasn’t sure if he was so hesitant because of the echo of Ma’s rage or the memory of being betrayed. The other Mr. Graves had sensed what he wanted without him ever saying a word and Credence had followed like a dog on a leash. And here he was saying it aloud to Percival, asking for it to be used against him. 

Credence was torn. He wanted Percival as much as he wanted to _believe_ Percival. He loved the brief glimpses of the other man smiling, the even rarer moments when he laughed. He liked the touch of his hands so much he thought he’d go mad. Percival made promises without asking for anything in return. At least for the moment, he was keeping those promises too. He apologized to Credence. But still…

“You said to tell if you if I was scared,” Credence said abruptly. He got up and moved away from the table to lean against one of the counters, agitated. 

“Please.”

Credence looked to one side. “The other Mr. Graves.”

“Grindelwald.” Percival tried not to let on how much that slip bothered him. 

“Yes.” Part of him wanted to lie, to change the topic, insisting that Percival would hate him for having ever wanted the other man. “I…” He took a deep breath and pushed ahead, talking fast. “I adored him. I would have done anything for him. I would have given him Modesty for his weapon. I would have _been_ his weapon.”

He could hear Percival’s quiet inhale and the other man rose from his chair, coming towards him. “Credence.” 

He shied away, moving back to the kitchen table. “ I….I came here thinking he was you, Percival. Knowing he’d used and betrayed me and I came back anyway.” He glanced up at him. “I would have been his weapon and he’d never even kissed me. What will I end up doing for you?”

The question took Graves aback and he struggled to answer it. How did you tell someone that he should have rejected the only good thing in his life because of something as abstract as ethics? No. That wasn’t it. Credence understood the horrendous nature of what he had nearly done; what he’d nearly been manipulated into doing. The problem was that he thought that was how caring worked. That caring about someone was to be used by them. Merlin. How did you explain that truly caring about someone meant you wanted what was best for them?

Grindelwald. Credence had cared about Grindelwald. He had adored him and the fact that Graves’ explanation had to start there made him sick. “Credence,” Graves said softly, stepping close to him, touching his face. “Can I ask you something?”

Credence nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Would you have asked him to do something he didn’t want to do? Something that you thought was wrong?”

“No..."

“Would you ask me?”

“No!”

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Graves said quietly. “Caring about someone makes you susceptible to them. You want to help them, to please them. But if they care, they should also want what’s best for you. So yes, you could be my weapon. But I wouldn’t ever ask you.” 

Credence made a soft sound and then he was kissing Graves again, pressing close against him. Graves wrapped an arm around him to steady them both, running his fingers down the side of Credence’s neck as they kissed. 

Credence closed his eyes in the kiss and pulled the other man close. Percival said things like that, made promises like that so casually. It was intoxicating, exactly what he wanted, the reassurance even though he knew the words were worth nothing. “You care,” he whispered against his lips. It was halfway to himself, barely aware that Percival was so close that he was going to be able to hear.

Graves pulled back just long enough to look at Credence. “God, yes, Credence, of course, I care.” He felt helpless; he wished he knew what to do, what to say to convince Credence that he meant what he said. He had to fight back a slow burning rage that Grindelwald had taken something so fundamental from the other man: the simple faith that someone could care for you. And the bastard had done it wearing his face and using his voice. That Credence could look at Graves and believe anything that came out of his mouth was nothing short of a wonder.

Percival kissed him again and there was more force in it, almost as if the man was trying to back up his words. The passion of it was making him flushed and hot again and he opened his mouth, inviting the other man inside. 

The movement pushed Credence back against the table and he shifted so that he was sitting on the edge. Sitting back like that (and not wearing a belt) shifted his pants further down on his hips and Percival’s hand settled where it had been before on his hip. Credence finally dared to put his hands on Percival, tracing that scar to where it started to fade out just below his waistline and the shiver that he got in response was immensely gratifying. The older man’s thumb was moving almost idly on the newly uncovered skin, back and forth, back and forth. Credence didn’t know if Percival thought he was being reassuring, but the soft repetitive strokes were driving him slowly insane. 

“Percival,” he said again and it wasn’t as humiliating this time. He wanted more, barely knew what that meant. “I mean it this time; I’m not just humoring you. Percival, please.” 

“Of course,” Percival kissed his ear, the compliance easy and immediate and then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, he slid his hand down to palm Credence through his pants. 

Credence couldn’t keep back the cry. His hips pushed into the touch almost instinctively. He tightened his grip on Percival, nails digging in so hard he was sure he was leaving a mark, but the other man didn’t seem to notice. He was so hard already and he buried his mouth against Percival’s neck to stifle the sounds. He wasn’t totally a stranger to this; he wasn’t a saint, after all and the many scars on his back could attest to that. Still, someone else’s hand there was so different, like fire and lightning, making it impossible to breathe. 

Percival’s hand pulled away for a moment and Credence let out a whine of frustration, gripping the other man tighter.

“Easy,” Percival pressed a damp kiss against his ear, his neck. “Doing this one handed is harder than it seems.” Credence could feel now that Percival was fumbling with the buttons on his pants and he blushed red even as he reached down to help, their fingers tangling, getting in each other’s way until they got the buttons unfastened. 

For one brief moment, he could feel Percival’s fingers, brushing him, pulling him free and then the older man paused again. “Do you want to try something new?” Percival muttered and Credence immediately assented. He’d trust almost anything Percival asked him to do to at this point as long as he didn’t stop.

“Say it,” Percival prompted against his ear. His voice was low, tight with desire. 

“I do. Whatever you want.” Credence stumbled over his words to give the reassurance.

He could hear Percival’s soft inhale at the response. “God, you are a wonder, Credence. A damn gorgeous wonder.” 

Credence blushed with pleasure at the sound, then blinked, staring.

Percival had gone to his knees. 

“Percival?” Credence asked, a hand almost instinctively going to his shaggy, tousled hair. “What are you…” He figured it out right as Percival’s tongue slid over his tip. Percival’s mouth was on his cock and the sheer knowledge of that made him whimper and squirm and fist his hand in Percival’s hair in sheer impossible need. 

He was… How could he--- God, it looked like Percival was _praying,_ kneeling between his legs with his head bent but his mouth and lips and tongue were doing impossible, wicked things. Credence whimpered and he knew his hand was so tight in Percival’s hair that it had to be pulling painfully, but he couldn’t stop it any more than he could stop the soft, obscene sounds that came out of his mouth as the other man took him deeper. 

His body was coiling tighter and tighter with an almost frightening fervor and the feeling grew in intensity any time Percival’s tongue moved, slid over his tip with an unbearable wet heat. It was unbearable; his mouth was dry with desire and he gasped for air, a frantic thread creeping into his voice. He was so close, so desperate, the feeling was almost terrifying and almost as if sensing it, Percival reached up and put a hand on his knee, as reassuring as the moment he’d handed his own wand to Credence for the second time. Then Percival’s tongue moved again, slid and flicked just on the tip of his cock. Credence came with a cry, body going rigid and hand going tight in Percival’s hair as he spilled himself in the other man’s mouth. He was shaking and had to take his hand out of Percival’s hair to hold himself up, shivering with fading spikes of pleasure as Percival licked him clean. 

Graves coughed a few times after swallowing around Credence. It had been...nearly a decade since had done that, but the hazy look on Credence’s sweat-damp face was probably a sign that he remembered it alright. That look also made him harden further against the fabric of his slacks but he resolutely ignored it. Credence looked wrung out, so he slipped an arm around him and kissed his forehead. “You alright?” 

Credence nodded. “...yeah.”

“Come upstairs and rest for a bit,” Graves said, helping him off the table and letting Credence lean on him. “My bed is more comfortable than that botch job I did on the couch, I promise.” He briefly wondered if he should transfigure it back before it forgot how to be a couch, but it was probably too soon for that. 

Credence leaned on him dazedly as they went upstairs, but focused a bit as they went into Percival’s bedroom. He’d really only been up here to use the bathroom or shower and he’d not seen much of either Percival’s bedroom or office besides what he could glimpse through the partially ajar doors. The same dark hardwood ran on this floor as the downstairs and a cherrywood sleigh bed with a gray duvet faced a brick fireplace. A novel, a wand stand and some sort of faintly phosphorescent liquid in a vial stood on the bedside. 

“What’s that?” Credence asked even as he sat down on the edge of the bed. The haze was starting to clear from his mind and he was looking around curiously. 

“It’s a potion for dreamless sleep,” Graves answered, setting his wand down instead on the dresser near the bottle of cologne.“I don’t...really sleep that well any more.” He never had, really. Even before being imprisoned, there had been Cador and the war. 

The belt was uncomfortable. For a moment, he considered just trying to remove his belt without Credence hearing it just to give himself some breathing room but...to hell with it. _“Evanesco,”_ he whispered and the belt vanished. He’d summon it back out of the ether later. 

“I’m sorry,” Credence said. 

“It’s alright. Hazard of my job.” The answer was pure bravado but he didn’t want to worry Credence or particularly go into details about the nightmares of his imprisonment. He joined Credence on the bed. “Like it up here?”

“I do,” Credence said and kissed him again. He tried what Percival had done earlier, sucking lightly on the other man’s lip and was rewarded by a shudder. Something occurred him. “You didn’t…” 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Percival answered but his cheeks were flushed.

“What if I want to?” Credence remembered the way Percival had shuddered when he kissed him, his reaction to being touched earlier. The idea that Percival might want him as much as he wanted Percival was alluring. 

Percival swallowed visibly. “Um. Well then. Yes. I would very much like that.” He slid a little bit further back on the bed and Credence followed him, lying alongside him and kissing him again. He….didn’t think he could do what Percival had done. The idea made him tremble with an embarrassment that bordered on panic, but he could do something. He kissed down his neck, put his tongue in the hollow of Percival’s throat like the other man had done to him. Percival jumped, letting out a soft sound of desire and surprise and Credence couldn’t suppress the sudden sense of pleasure and power. 

Graves slipped an arm around Credence’s waist, holding him close as the other man explored, felt over his body. He certainly wasn’t going to tell Credence no-- his body had been hard and aching since he’d knelt on the floor of the kitchen and taken the younger man’s cock in his mouth. His skin was already flushed and sensitive and Credence’s tentative explorations were frankly intoxicating. 

Or maybe not tentative. Graves choked back a curse and his head jerked back against the duvet as Credence touched him through his pants, echoing what he had done earlier. 

“Like that?”

“Yes! Yes. Like that.” 

The tremor in Percival’s voice made Credence’s mouth go dry and he stayed where he was, teasing and exploring until he had Percival squirming on the bed. The older man’s lips were parted and he was panting, one hand fisted in the duvet, the other in Credence’s shirt. That he could make Percival move like that, eyelids fluttering, the calm alertness totally gone from his face... 

“You’re doing this deliberately,” Percival accused but there wasn’t an ounce of anger in his voice. Credence must have done something right, slid his thumb along the tip because he could see the faint dampness of the other man’s leaking cock and Percival let out a moan. “God, you’re going to make me beg, you little minx,” he got out between gritted teeth and the thread of desperation in his voice made Credence flush and shudder. 

“Will you?” he asked and even he was surprised how eager his voice was. Credence wasn’t sure what was more intoxicating: that he could make Percival feel this good or that he could make Percival _wait._

“Fuck, if that’s what it takes.” Graves could barely form words. How had this naif, this twenty-two year old with absolutely no experience so totally destroyed him? And if Credence wanted him to beg, then to hell with it. Right now he’d do anything the other man wanted. “Please, Credence. Please.” He half-turned towards Credence and kissed him desperately, drowning out the rest of the plea against the other man’s mouth. His hips pushed almost involuntarily against Credence’s hand and Credence gave him what he wanted, working harder and faster. He was leaking freely now, the fabric of his pants now a devastating friction, made only worse by the pressure and touch of Credence’s hand until he broke and came with hoarse shout against the other man’s neck. 

It took Graves a long moment to come wearily back to himself and he laughed softly. “You gorgeous wonder,” he said again, kissing the corner of Credence’s mouth. “You are the only thing I will ever be grateful to Grindelwald for.”

“...so that was alright?” Credence asked, though the small smile made it clear he maybe knew the answer already.

“That…” Graves kissed him again. “That was more than alright, Credence.” He’d made him come through his pants like a horny teenager instead of the nearly forty year old adult that he was. That was more than alright. He was exhausted though. He glanced at the clock on the mantel of the fireplace. Barely nine-thirty. “How do you feel about going to bed early?” 

“My things are downstairs,” Credence answered. 

“Borrow some of mine.” A weary wave of his wand opened a drawer for Credence to rummage through and summoned fresh pair of pajama pants for him. Once they’d changed and were under the covers, Graves set his wand on the stand and waved his hand at the lights. _“Nox.”_ With the darkness and the exhaustion, he didn’t think to take the sleeping potion and for once, he didn’t dream of Cador or Grindelwald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for chapter 8, in which everyone's weekends get a little bit (or a lot) worse.  
> Hit me up at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/maggieandthedragon


	8. Blood Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence loses control. Graves loses a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original spell notes:  
> Renovo: I renew  
> Sustineo vita: I sustain by blood. 
> 
> There is some precedent for blood magic in the HP universe (the spell that fully resurrected Voldemort, for instance) and I find it pretty reasonable that war magic might contain some pretty horrendous stuff.

Graves woke early without the lingering headache that using the potion for dreamless sleep always gave him. He only opened his eyes enough to pick up his wand from the night table before he closed them again, meticulously checking each of the wards. He used to have exceptions to them-- five people he trusted to enter his house without having to be let in manually: himself, Sophie, Elaine, Matthew, Izzy. He’d closed those exceptions once Credence had arrived. No one but Graves himself now could enter the house unimpeded, without sounding a mental alarm. 

Graves opened his eyes and sat up, glancing over to where Credence was asleep next to him. He was curled up tightly as if for warmth. Graves could feel the same fond foolish grin spread across his face. A flick of his wand pulled the duvet up over the younger man and Graves slipped out of bed. The grin only lasted until he had showered, shaved and was trying to do battle with the rat’s nest Credence made of his hair. 

“Shit.” He put down the comb. That had been a phenomenally foolish decision. He’d gotten carried away, bowled over by the relief of finally giving in, finally doing what he wanted and he’d been a fool. And he’d led Credence on, talked like they had any possibility of a future, even if it was to warn him of the cost of one. He was out of control. He had been out of control since Credence manifested in his living room, reacting rather than acting, to the changing situation, to his changing feelings. And he’d miscalculated and given in when he should have politely turned Credence down, talked about the future when he should have pulled back and now he was going to have to break that gorgeous wonder’s heart. 

_”I’ve seen you fight a bloody dragon, Percival, and now you decide to be a coward?”_ Even the memory of Theseus’s beautiful brokenhearted face made him flinch. Damn. He looked in the mirror. Thirty-eight. New scars, grey hair and he was still no braver than he was a decade ago when Theseus had begged him to stay in England, confessed to loving him and Graves had panicked and broken and ran like a coward. He’d run back to America and back to his work because somehow, risking his life as an Auror had been less terrifying.

It was a reaction that made no sense, especially now. Credence had pointed out he was already making stupid decisions-- he was already risking his job, his freedom, maybe even his life by protecting and helping the younger man. The only difference here was having to truly reckon with who he was and live with the consequences of that. Graves finished untangling his hair and ran his pomaded fingers through it to keep it slicked back. He washed the remainder off his hands and went back to the bedroom to dress. Credence was still asleep and even now, even as he questioned his decisions, the sight of the younger man made him smile. Damn it. Wasn’t it worth it? He’d been happy with Theseus, scared but happy nonetheless. 

Graves dressed, reconjuring his Vanished belt from the night before. The leather of it was smooth against his hands and shook his head as he put it on. Credence was braver than he was. The younger man had gone rigid with panic at the sight of his belt in Graves’ hands, but he’d breathed, recovered, been willing to try again. By all rights, he should have run screaming the second he learned about Graves, not stayed, not kissed him, not stood in the kitchen and talked about how scared he was of being used and then somehow trusted Graves anyway. Graves glanced over at the young man. He could be that brave; be worthy of that bravery. It was worth it. 

Graves couldn’t help going over to the bed, sitting down on the edge near where Credence was curled into a ball. The younger man made a soft noise and shifted a little closer, but didn’t wake, not even when Graves brushed his tousled black hair. He couldn’t help the smile. “Guess you’re mine,” he said softly before leaving Credence to sleep and going downstairs. 

Graves had made coffee and was reading the paper at the kitchen table when he heard the stairs creak as Credence came down. He had redressed, mostly, but was clearly looking for his belt and a fresh shirt so Graves went out into the living room. “I think I kicked it under the bed,” he admitted and then inhaled sharply.

Credence’s back was a mass of scars. Most were up high, between his shoulderblades but a few were lower. The jagged scar of the Auror’s curses was across the middle of his back, where it should have severed his spine if he’d been in any sort of corporeal form. There was one more, clearly old but painful to look at, right next to his spine between his shoulder blades. It looked like a burn. It might have been in the shape of a cross, but too many other raised white scars covered it for the shape to be truly visible. 

Credence had frozen and whipped around as soon as he heard Percival’s voice but he’d seen. He knew he had. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Scarred and ugly, deformed by his past. It would be this, or something else, that made Percival change his mind. Something ugly whispered in him that Sophie McIlvain probably had a brother, as posh and beautiful as her. Or he’d reconsider and contact Theseus Scamander again.

“Breathe.” Graves' voice cut through the sudden haze.

“I’m sorry.” 

“There’s no need. Your Ma should be sorry,” Graves growled. “Are these all from her?” He managed only barely to stifle the comment that Credence had done him a favor by killing the woman. 

Credence nodded. “Well...except…”

“The one from my Aurors.” The slow burn of rage faded out into guilt. He reached for Credence’s back. “May I?”

“....alright.” 

His thumb brushed over the burn. “When did this happen?” he asked softly.

“I was ten. I got some sort of letter and Ma got so angry.” Credence looked over his shoulder at him and there was a thread of desperation in his voice. “I hadn’t even done anything…”

“I know.” Graves couldn’t even say anything. God. Five scars from his Aurors and one because of Ilvermorny. The wizarding world couldn’t have failed him any more completely and yet Credence was still so desperate to assure him that he was _good._ “Credence.” 

“Yes?”

“I can fix these.” He slid a finger over the mass of the scars. “The non-magical ones at least. The other one….maybe a professional healer could.” Graves was more adept at harming than healing. He’d never seen it as a lack before. 

“Please.” Credence’s assent was disconcertingly rapid. 

Graves sat on the couch bed and gestured for Credence to sit in front of him. “Do you think these bother me?” he asked, then whispered the spell. _“Renovo.”_ It was slow going, even just for the one scar-- the scar was old and the body had to be convinced to restore it to what it once had been. Credence would be tired and hungry after restoring this many scars.

“They’re ugly.” Credence glanced over at him. “I’m ugly.” 

“You are not,” Graves answered even as he murmured the incantation again over the next scar. 

“...even if I’m not, you know MACUSA’s hunting me. And I can’t control the obscurus and I can’t do magic and I don’t know half the things I should. Shouldn’t….shouldn’t you be with Theseus Scamander? Or….Sophie McIlvain’s brother if she has one.” 

The idea was vaguely amusing. “Sophie does have a brother and Steven is an arrant twit who thinks his family’s money makes up for his lack of sense,” Graves commented. He kissed Credence’s shoulder, healing another scar. As much as it was almost gratifying to know that Credence, too, had woken up with doubts, he hated that those doubts came from the young man feeling worthless. Not when wanting to be worthy of Credence’s bravery was one of the few things that had reconciled him to this phenomenally stupid idea. 

“You know what I mean,” Credence said. 

“You are the only person to have survived this long as an obscurial,” Graves said softly. “You went through hell itself and somehow you still have the capacity to care about other people, to laugh. You met people you were taught to hate and were able to change your mind about them. I want the person who can do that.” 

Credence was quiet for a long moment, realizing that he couldn’t exactly argue against his own logic. “...alright.” He didn’t seem quite convinced though. 

Graves left it be, methodically working on renewing every scar he could until there was mostly smooth skin on his back, with the exclusion of the spellscar from City Hall. The burn mark was the deepest, the one that took the longest to heal. By the time he was done, Credence had laid down on his side on the bed, tired.

Graves had to ask and he hoped the fatigue would keep Credence calm. He focused for a moment before conjuring a glowing image of Ilvermorny’s Gordian knot seal. “Credence, was this on the letter your mother got so angry about?” 

“....I think so. I thought it was so beautiful. I showed it to her to ask what the animals were.” Credence rolled onto his back, looking drowsily up at him. “Why?” 

“That’s the school seal of Ilvermorny,” Graves began but whatever he intended to say next was cut off by Credence sitting up. 

“What?” 

“Credence, breathe.”

“Don’t tell me to breathe. You mean I could have--- I could have---” The darkness was close to the surface already, fed by jealousy and insecurity and now it was stirring and shaking itself away with rage. His breath was starting to come hard and fast. 

“Credence. What your mother did was wrong. I know and I’m so sorry. But I need you to--”

“I hate her,” Credence whispered. Graves couldn’t tell if Credence was actually shaking or if it was the vibrations of the obscurus starting to tear itself free. “I hate her; I hate her; I’m glad I killed her!”

“Credence, you don’t mean that.” Graves’ grip tightened on his wand. This was not going well. 

“I don’t. I do. I can’t. I don’t.” Credence’s voice was desperate, his body shifting in and out of corporeality. It felt like his skin was going to rip itself apart. He couldn’t breathe; rage and shame and guilt combined with panic and fear. He knew what he was letting loose, knew that the closest person here for it to hurt was Percival and he couldn’t stop it. “I’m a monster. Percival. Help me!” Credence reached for the other man even as his eyes rolled white and his body tore itself apart into inky lethal smoke.

Graves did the only thing his Auror training would allow him to do. There were too many people here, too huge of risk of exposure, of lives being lost. There was no way he could apparate with Credence without splinching him fatally, no way of incapacitating him by himself. He stayed and pointed his wand hand at the ceiling even as the obscurus manifested itself fully. _“Protego maxima. Fianto duri!”_ Silver light poured from his wand, covering the inside walls of the living room, making an impassable orb filled with raging black smoke.

“You’re not going anywhere. And those spells aren’t going away until I drop them or you kill me.” The smoke streamed at him but diverted at the last minute, bounced off the silver barrier, ceiling to floor, side to side. Each impact sent hairline cracks through the light. Graves poured more magic into it. “You won’t hurt me, Credence. I know you won’t.”

There was a howl from somewhere deep within the smoke, strange and distorted and the obscurus rushed him, crowding him back against the silver barrier. Pressed this close, Graves could hear it crackling with the strain of restraining the hellish creature. Something like an alarm sounded dimly in the back of Graves’ head but it must be the weakening structure of the barrier spells. He could feel the coldness of the smoke, small bites of pain as it touched his skin and for the very first time, he wondered what it felt like to be killed by an obscurus. 

_“Sustineo vita.”_ Silver ran up his arm from the barrier, sunk into his skin like claws and he jerked with a hiss of pain. The barrier thrummed to life again and flooded with an unnatural red tinge, intensifying further. The Sustainment Curse was blood magic, the darkest of magic, consuming the power of a human life to fuel a spell well beyond what the caster should be able to do. Most Aurors didn’t even know it; it had been a spell rediscovered during the Great War under the desperation of artillery shelling. Dark Wizards of the distant past used the deaths of prisoners to make their fortresses impregnable. Graves would use his own. Aurors didn’t get to make mistakes. If this was one, if Credence killed him, his own life would fuel the spell. 

“You kissed me like the world was going to end. You made me beg with wanting you.” He had no idea how to do this, how to call Credence back to himself. “The last thing you said before you turned into this was asking me to help you. I will give you back the future your mother stole from you; I swear to you.” He wouldn’t be able to hold this spell for much longer. “You’re my gorgeous wonder. You won’t hurt me. Stop this, Credence. Please.” 

The smoke slowly retracted and Graves was able to breathe again. “There you go,” he said exhaustedly. “You’re stronger than it. Come on. You are so incredibly resilient and so incredibly strong. Come on.” He barely even knew what he was saying. There was so much adrenaline in his bloodstream and his heart was pounding so loudly from blood loss. 

The smoke condensed further and Graves could see a human form underneath it. God. Thank god. _“Finite incantatem,”_ he murmured and gasped with relief as the pain vanished from his arm. 

“Percival!” The name came from two directions, two voices. Credence, still solidifying, and behind him because the alarm in his head had had nothing to do with the failing barriers and everything to do with _Cave Inimicum_ and Sophie McIlvain walking into his house. 

Her wand was up and Credence was crying out, pulling back and his hands went up over his face with the Aurors' scars still visible and Percival heard his own voice growl the charm. _“Stupefy.”_

She collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Shit.” Graves caught himself on the chair. He’d attacked another Auror. His friend. Why had she even been here? It was only then that he noticed her clothes. She was in the dark brown trench coat of the Auror uniform and the fedora lay on the floor next to her head. But the clothes were slashed. There was blood and the evidence of wounds healed with hasty magic. He remembered the list of names he’d given the Foreign Office, that the officious wizard who came to see him had spoken of a need-to-know transfer date, moving Grindelwald to Azkaban. It was the only explanation that made sense, why he wouldn’t have known that his lieutenant was on duty. The possibility was chilling. 

Credence was still trailing smoke as he crossed over to him. The younger man’s hands only full condensed into corporeality as he caught him by the shoulders, helped him to stand. “What did you do?”

“Knocked Sophie unconscious. We have a serious problem.” If Grindelwald was loose and she came here, he might be under suspicion. Or she wasn’t the real Sophie. Or she just might have been sent to collect the Director of Magical Security since a supremacist lunatic was loose. He knelt down next to her, searched her pockets until he found her wand and tucked it in his vest. “I need to get you somewhere safe. Hold on.”

Before Credence could protest, they disapparated. 

 

They appeared again on the landing outside Tina’s apartment. Graves hit the doorframe with a heavy thud. It hadn’t been a graceful transfer, but neither of them appeared to be missing anything important.

Graves leaned his head back against the door, breathing heavily. 

“Percival, you’re not okay,” Credence glanced around to make sure they were unobserved, before touching his face. 

“I’ll be alright.” He returned the gesture. “Listen. I’m going to have to go back to the house and I may not be back for awhile. Tina and Mr. Scamander will take care of you.”

“Don’t!” The look of panic on Credence’s face was heartbreaking and he grabbed hold of Graves’ arms. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry I lost control; I’ll do better; I never would have hurt…”

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay.” To hell with being seen; Graves covered Credence’s protesting mouth with his, silencing him with a kiss. “I’m not leaving. Not like that; not because of that.” He leaned his forehead against the younger man’s before he heard the door unlock and pulled away. 

“Director Graves?!” Queenie Goldstein opened the door with a hint of alarm. “You look--” She must have sensed his urgency as soon as she made eye contact; he felt the featherlight touch of her mind. “You’d better come in. I’ll get Newt and Tina.”

“Miss Goldstein.” At any other moment he would chide her for her lack of control but not right now. He stepped inside, guiding Credence in by the elbow. “That’s Tina’s sister. She probably already knows about you.” 

“She does?”

“She reads minds.” That ship had likely already sailed, but… “Try not to think too loudly about kissing me.”

Credence glanced at him, blushing, but couldn’t ask any more questions before Newt and Tina arrived. 

“Credence, why don’t you have a shirt on?” Tina asked. “Gra--- Percival. What happened to you?” 

“You should sit down,” Scamander said, taking Graves’ arm and gesturing him to a chair. “And maybe take an Invigorating Draught.”

“You look a little worse for wear too, honey,” Queenie said to Credence, likely having sensed his distress. “Sit down and I’ll get you a blanket and some cocoa.” 

“I’m fine.” Graves tried to wave off Scamander but the man was already disappearing into another room so he started explaining just to Tina and Queenie. “Sophie McIlvain saw Credence. She’s in my house, stupefied but I need to go talk to her.” He had to be able to explain, to convince her. She was his best friend. If she wouldn’t listen to him, he didn’t know what he would do. 

Tina covered her mouth. “You attacked another Auror…” 

“I didn’t really have a choice,” Graves answered. “And that’s not all. When Sophie came to my house she was in her coat and hat-- official duty-- but beat up like she’d been dueling.” He swallowed, watching Credence, gauging his mental state. “She was the head of the team charged with handing Grindelwald over to Azkaban.”

“...he’s loose.” Tina sat down at the table across from him. Queenie’s hand shook a little bit when she set the cocoa down in front of Credence.

“I don’t know for sure yet, but that seems like a safe assumption,” Graves answered. Credence had abruptly looked down and the hand that was on the table tensed, nails digging into the wood. Graves pushed a hand through his hair. “If he’s made the same deduction that the Research Division of MACUSA has, that means he knows Credence is still alive. Given the opportunity, he’ll try to come for him.”

Credence jerked and Graves took his hand under the table. 

“He’s not having you,” Tina said immediately and once again, Graves was intensely grateful for Tina, her fierceness, her dedication. He was glad he wasn’t the only one fighting for Credence. 

“No. Because I am going to stop him.” His voice came out in a low growl that startled both Scamander, reentering the room with a vial of something murky colored and whatever small green insect beast was lurking on his lapel. 

“Invigorating Draught,” he said, placing it on the table in front of Graves. “Extra salamander blood. I anticipate you won’t be sleeping much in the next few days.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander.”

“Newt. Please.” 

“....fine. Percival.” He drained the potion; the extra salamander blood made it viscous and he had to force it down. He felt the fatigue drain from him. He gave Credence’s hand a final squeeze. “I should go. Sophie won’t be out for long.” He paused. “Newt. If you don’t hear from me in twenty-four hours, assume I wasn’t able to convince her, which means I’m in MACUSA’s custody.” He swallowed. “Or Grindelwald’s gotten to me again. If that happens, take him to England. Get him a wand; get him to Hogwarts or---I don’t know. Somewhere safe.”

“I will,” Newt promised and once again, Graves had that brief moment of eye contact that meant the man was serious.

“I’m not leaving you to go to England!” Credence protested, standing as well and grabbing his arm. “Percival, you can’t…” 

Damnit. He didn’t want to have this conversation like this, with the others watching. “I’m not leaving,” he said softly. He drew Credence to one side. “Credence, if I don’t come back it will be because I am dead or in prison. Either of those puts you in terrible danger. I need you to promise me you’ll go with Newt if that happens.”

Credence glanced away, lips pressed tight. 

“Please.” 

“You promise not to to die or get caught,” he got out and Graves abruptly realized even if his voice was petulant, Credence was struggling not to cry. 

To hell with it. His stupid reputation wasn’t worth leaving Credence like this. Graves gathered him close. “I promise,” he whispered in his ear and kissed his temple, deliberately not looking at either of the Goldstein sisters or Newt, the latter of whom was watching them carefully like they were some sort of creature he was categorizing. “You may not see me a lot for a while, but I will not die and I will not get caught and I will come back. Will you go with Newt?”

Credence nodded reluctantly. “If anything happens, I’ll go with Newt.” 

“Good.” There was one last thing. “Credence. The next time you see me, if I don’t call you my gorgeous wonder, it’s not me.”

Credence gripped his shirt again and there was panic in his voice. “Don’t go. Don’t. I can’t…” 

Damnit. Graves kissed him, ignoring the sound of Tina’s sharp inhale.

“Graves, you son of a bitch...” 

“I will come back. I promise,” he told Credence quietly, keeping him close, pressed against him until the younger man was calmer. He was deliberately ignoring Tina’s protests. “I have to go.” 

“I know.” Credence let go of his shirt reluctantly. “...I’ll talk to Tina.”

Graves couldn’t help it; he kissed him one last time. “Leave him be about it, Tina,” he asked and before she could respond, he apparated away. 

He reapparated in his house. There were scorch marks on the walls and ceiling. The furniture that had been inside the barrier was crumbled, smoking ash. Sophie was still crumpled on the floor and he paused over her. “ _Revelio_.” No reaction. So she was the real Sophie, but there was no guarantee that her mind hadn’t been co-opted. If it was Grindelwald controlling her, he wouldn’t be strong enough to break the curse himself.

It was a risk he had to take. He sat down on the one remaining scorched armchair. “ _Rennerverate._ ”

Her eyes opened and she immediately went for her wand. 

“I have it, Sophie. And I will give it back to you once I’m sure you’re going to listen to me.” He had his wand held in one hand, the tip at least partially in her direction. He glanced out the window. “I take it Grindelwald’s gone.”

“Unvanished a wand; somehow managed to punch through the anti-disparition field.” Sophie sat up groggily, rubbing the back of her head.

“And you think I’m him.” 

“It would explain you having a lover’s quarrel with an obscurus.” 

Graves winced, then handed her wand back to her. “Go ahead and make sure.” 

“Grindelwald never quite managed that hangdog of a look,” Sophie said.

“Or that level of impertinence.” It was as much reassurance as either of them would get.

Sophie cast the spell anyway. “ _Revelio_.” The charm washed over him and faded into nothing, leaving him the same as he was.

Sophie almost looked disappointed and the wary alertness of an Auror gave way to anger. “Damnit, Percival. What the hell are you doing? Do you have any idea how _furious_ I am at you right now?”

Graves flinched. “I’m sorry. I should have told you I wasn’t interested in women a long time ago. I just--- I worried--”

“Do you actually think I care about that?” Sophie made an indignant noise. “Don’t make yourself into a martyr. I don’t care. I’m livid that you waited until after I threw myself at you to tell me, but I don’t care.” 

Graves winced again. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have lied. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I just didn’t think you were interested--”

“Guess what! I didn’t either!” Sophie was yelling. “I didn’t realize until I pulled your broken half-dead body out of your closet! You were dying, Percival! The curse was so strong you hadn’t drank anything since he’d last ordered you to. The doctors had to regrow your kidneys; you were so far gone. And I pulled you out of there and all I could think about was how much I couldn’t stand losing you. Because you are my best friend and I apparently have a thing for you and you don’t even trust me.” 

“I thought you were going to hurt him,” Graves said softly. He looked down at his feet. 

“You mean because he was about ten seconds away from killing you?” 

“He wouldn’t…” God. She was so angry. What if he couldn’t bring her around? Could he actually duel her? She wouldn’t turn him in. This was Sophie. He’d known her for years, trusted her with his life...

“Don’t even try. I know what blood magic looks like. There’s no way you would have fueled a barrier spell with it if you weren’t desperate.” 

“Don’t tell anyone.” Graves had given up. There was no explaining what he’d done, no way to fix the breach of trust he’d caused. “Please. Especially now, especially with Grindelwald free. There’s no way MACUSA won’t kill him outright. Just give me time. Newt Scamander is here-- he’s going to separate the obscurus. I’ll tell MACUSA when he has a chance of being left alone. Please, Sophie.” 

She looked at him, shaking her head disbelievingly. “You’re asking me to commit treason for you, Percival. And I’m not even sure I like you right now.” 

“Then don’t do it for me. Sophie, he’s only twenty-two. You’ve read the file on the Second Salemers, you know what that being raised like that would do to a wizard. Please. Just give him a chance.” 

Sophie finally looked away. “Fine.” 

“Thank y--” Graves started to say but Sophie cut him off. 

“These are my conditions. You loop me in. You keep me informed; I go with you when Scamander does his research or any spells. Your solution to the last time he turned into a cloud of homicidal fury involved letting him kill you and hoping the shield would hold. I don’t trust you to make rational decisions about this.”

“...fair.”

“And you are writing and signing an undated letter of resignation. Claim your imprisonment has affected your judgement if you want--- which it clearly has. If I even think that you are compromising this department to protect that obscurial--”

“His name is Credence,” Graves commented softly. 

“-- _that obscurial,_ then I am handing it to Picquery. Is that clear?”

It wasn’t like he had any other options. He couldn’t fight her. Even if he won, the fact that she had gone to his house and been incapacitated would be damning enough. And he couldn’t bring her round. “Clear.”

“Wonderful.” Sophie’s tone dripped sarcasm. She stood and dusted herself off. “Picquery wants us all at MACUSA for a briefing. Fix your house and get there.” 

“Sophie.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” 

She looked at him and for a moment her mouth twisted in pain and pity and anger. “I hope you are, Percival. I really hope you are.” She disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/


	9. In the Line of Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves is very, very good at his job, but there's a cost to being an Auror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: GORE. Seriously. Bodies, blood and description of a lost limb. 
> 
> Original spells:  
> Adytum: Sanctum/sanctuary  
> Inuere: Be seared
> 
> If you are not familiar with the Rappaport Law and the massacre that provoked it, it may be helpful to look at before reading this section. Also, this is long and a mess and I'm sorry.

Graves fixed his house and made it to MACUSA in the time it took to cast two spells. Even as he approached the door, he knew there would be no briefing. Something else had happened. Even the doorman looked nervous. “Director, you’re needed in Major Investigations right away.”

“Got it.” 

He’d arrived in in the briefing room had to organized chaos. The on-duty Aurors were all talking at once, looking at maps, but the room fell silent when he entered. 

“Situation.”

“Sir, we just heard from Boston. Grindelwald appeared in their evidence locker; fought his way out. They have five Aurors down.”

“Portkey-- the Thunderbird pendant they took into evidence last week.” Some small compartmentalized section of his mind registered that he was talking about the necklace Grindelwald had sent to Izzy, but the impact of that was instinctively dismissed. Not now. “Explains how he got past the anti-disparition field. He probably doesn’t have another on him. McIlvain, Oakhurst. Take two of the on-duty squads. Oakhurst, get in the air and get me an assessment of what’s going on up there. McIlvain, set up an anti-disparition field. Shut down the Floo Network. We contain him in Boston and we keep him on foot. Lethal force authorized.”

“Sir.” Sophie was attentive as always. He wasn’t the only one compartmentalizing. They could worry about what had happened ten minutes ago once they recaptured Grindelwald. 

“Campbell, start calling in off-duty personnel. Fletcher, I want every Auror department in reasonable apparition range of Boston on high alert.” 

He glanced around the gray room, full of desks and maps and filing cabinets, checking off the members of his team that he’d recommended to transport Grindelwald. Sophie, Branson, Fletcher. 

“Where’s Cortez?” 

“Medical. Bastard dropped a tree on her,” Branson answered. His uniform was as battered as Sophie’s. 

“What the hell happened?” 

“He has two goddamn wands. He must have Vanished one of them and recalled it while we were busy dealing with the Brits. One of theirs is in Medical too and another’s dead. They’re pissed as hell.” 

“I do not care about the Brits and their feelings right now. Get a memo of what happened and what we know about his capabilities now on my desk yesterday. McIlvain and Fletcher, if there’s anything Branson didn’t see or doesn’t know, make sure he does before you leave. Dismissed, everyone.” 

“Sir!” There was a chorus of voices but Graves was already leaving the room. He headed upstairs to Foreign Relations. He didn’t want to care about the Brits and their feelings, but he needed to know if they were going to cooperate or fight his investigation. If they were going to fight, he wanted Foreign Relations dealing with it and not his Aurors. 

Foreign Relations was as chaotic as his briefing room and the Brits had apparently invaded the small, cramped waiting room. A redheaded witch with a swollen black eye was being examined by tall black wizard. _”Episkey”_ he said, tapping his wand under her eye and the swelling immediately began to reduce. 

Two more British wizards stood in front of Marianna Jamison, the Director of Foreign Relations and as Branson had said, they did indeed appear to be pissed, but about entirely different things. 

One of them, a smaller, wiry man in a mudstained greatcoat was currently yelling in frustration. “What do you mean we can’t get back in the field? He’s out there and the longer we twiddle our bloody thumbs the harder he’ll be to pin down again!”

“There are rules about international sovereignty that have to be observed,” Jamison was starting to explain. 

“Yes, which is why the International Confederation of Wizards needs to determine the proper way to conduct this investigation. This became an international affair the second it was determined that Grindelwald was to be tried internationally.” The other British wizard was a nattily dressed man in a finely cut black suit. Bureaucrat. 

“I am not waiting for the International Confederation to decide who gets to go after this lunatic,” Graves interrupted. “Director Jamison.” 

“Graves.” The woman looked relieved. “Excuse me, gentleman.” She took Graves’ arm and pulled him into her office. “They’ve been at this since their Aurors came back hurt.”

“Wonderful. Have they mentioned that I tried to kill Newt Scamander yet?” 

“That was their opening gambit to question your competency.” She looked him over. “You were living in a closet courtesy of the Imperius Curse less than a month ago.” 

Graves made an aggravated noise. “I don’t care who runs the investigation. I can; the Brits can, but it needs to move forward now. We don’t have time for this. Keep them off my back, Jamison.”

“I can invoke national sovereignty for the moment, but they’ll go to the ICW.”

“I’ll play nice with any task force they want as long as they leave me alone right now. Just keep them off my back.” Graves glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose I can use the British Aurors. They’re champing at the bit out there.”

“Graves.” Jamison shook her head. “You can’t have it both ways. If I’m telling the Ministry to step off and this is our investigation, you can’t decide that you want them involved.”

“Thanks anyway.” It was a shame. The other Aurors were itching to get back in the fight and with five dead in Boston, he could use the extra manpower. 

He left the office and the Auror in the greatcoat was looking to him. “Sir. You’re Graves, right? The Director of Magical Security.”

“I am.”

“Loop us in. We’ll follow your lead; just let us get involved.” 

Both Jamison and the Brit in the fancy suit were watching him. “I can’t. This is our investigation until the ICW thrashes out international involvement.” 

“That filthy git killed Connelly; dropped a tree on one of yours. You want us to sit here?”

Damnit. Graves feigned an appropriately sympathetic tone for Jamison and the British ambassador even as he shifted so that his face was only visible to the Auror. “I really do apologize. At the very least, why don’t you three move to the canteen on floor five. The coffee’s better there and you’ll have more space.” He winked. 

Understanding dawned on the British Auror’s face but he managed a decent grumble. “May as well. Cramped in here.”

“Good man.” 

By the time he got back down to his office, Branson had gotten the report to him. He checked it over, added his recommendations and sent it down to the tubes to be transcribed and sent out. He wrote a briefing for Picquery and was just about to send it up to her when there was a knock on his door and Tina stepped in.

“If you are here to admonish me about this morning, I do not have time.” The fact that Tina had appointed herself as Credence’s mother was simultaneously gratifying and infuriating. The younger man needed all the allies he could get, but Graves was not accustomed to justifying his actions to anyone. 

She scowled and put a folder on his desk. “McIlvain’s report. Is she going to be a problem?” 

“She’s about as happy with me as you are right now but she won’t be a problem.” He would make sure she wasn’t a problem. He flipped through the report. “Three of the Aurors are missing their effects and some hair. He’s trying to get out of Boston using another face.” 

“...sir.” 

Graves glanced up. “What is it?”

“If he’s still in Boston, with the anti-Disparition field and the Floo network shut down, won’t he have to use No-Maj transport?” 

“And I doubt a magical supremacist bothered to learn how to drive,” Graves answered. “So public transportation. Where are you going with this?”

“...Newt always talks about going through customs when he takes a ship to America. They look at your passport, make sure you aren’t carrying anything illegal. He says they check your name against a list.” 

“You want to use No-Maj security to amplify our own.”

“They have Dark people too. I think their word for it is mafia?” 

Graves stood. “We’d need a Rappaport exemption. There’s no way Congress will give us one, but draft the proposal anyway. I’ll get on their schedule.” 

“Yes, sir.” Tina turned to go.

“Oh. Tina.”

“Yes?”

“It was a good idea. Don’t hesitate when you have a good idea.”

There was the faintest flicker of a smile. “Thank you, sir.” She left. 

 

Graves was right. There was no way he was getting a Rappaport exemption. He stood in the center of the congressional hall and presented his case; the need for quick action, the weakened state of the Boston Aurors. “There are only ten Aurors in all of Boston even at full strength. Half of them are dead. We know that Grindelwald will be using one of three faces to leave the city. We’ve shut down the Floo network. We have an anti-disparition field over the entire metropolitan area. If he is still in Boston, he will have to take No-Maj transport. All I am asking for is a long enough conversation to put those three faces on the radar of No-Maj law enforcement. I’m not asking to tell them who Grindelwald is or what he wants. We’d present them as mafia lieutenants.”

“While this may seem innocuous to you, Director Graves, it would be setting a dangerous precedent. The Rappaport Law is one of our oldest and most fundamental tenets. It defends the Statute of Secrecy--”

“Which I am not asking to break.” 

“You are not. Currently. But if we grant you this overreach, what about the next crisis? Will you have the NYPD on the lookout for beast smugglers?”

“Gellert Grindelwald is a dark wizard with power to rival our President hoping to incite global war between wizards and No-Majs. Don’t insult my intelligence-- or your own-- by comparing this to beast smuggling.” Graves managed to keep most of the disgust out of his voice. 

Another senator chimed in, older, with his voice quavering. “That being the case, aren’t we recklessly risking No-Maj lives then? By asking them to confront him?”

“We wouldn’t be asking them to confront him, merely to contact us.’”

“But they are such helpless---”

“If you think No-Majs are helpless, then you have clearly never been _shot._ ” Graves voice had dropped, calm and quiet and very, very full of restrained fury. “I have. It is very difficult to do magic when you’re drowning in your own blood. The Rappaport Law has nothing to do with protecting No-Majs and everything to do with protecting us. I am asking you to ignore the letter of the law and follow its spirit. Scourers are not the threat to our secrecy, our existence right now. Grindelwald is and if you insist on being so obstinately rigid, you are just as foolish as Dorcus Twelvetrees ever was. Call a vote.” 

He heard Picquery close the debate and call for a vote and he spun on his heel and left the chamber. It wasn’t going to work; he knew that, but he’d had to try. He leaned against the wall as they voted and suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion. The Invigorating Draught, even with Scamander’s addition to it, had worn off and he was pretty sure the last time he had eaten had been sandwiches with Credence last night. 

God. Last night seemed so far away already. He’d been so foolishly, stupidly happy. He’d had Credence in his arms and he’d been deluded enough to think that he could have that, be that happy without paying the cost for it. Now Grindelwald was loose. Graves’ career and more importantly, Credence’s life and freedom were entirely in Sophie’s hands. 

“Sir.” A page stepped out of the chamber and handed him an envelope. He opened it. Two thirds against. No exemption granted. Of course. He wondered if the Congress expected him to explain that actually _catching_ Grindelwald had been too much of a ‘dangerous precedent’ to the families of the five dead Aurors. He tore the envelope in half and handed it back to the page, then headed back to the briefing room on the fifth floor. He only vaguely noticed that people were clearing a path for him. There had to be another way to---

Graves abruptly wheeled and headed towards the canteen instead, finding the three British aurors occupying a couch in one of the corners and quietly whispering. He approached them. “Gentlemen. Ma’am. How do you feel about potentially causing an international incident?” 

 

It was evening; the winter sun had set hours ago and Graves was still in his office. The high windows had faded to black and the desk lamp cast most of the instruments in the cases behind him into bronzed shadow. There was no sign of Grindelwald, but they were maintaining the high alert. No results had come yet from the British Aurors talking to the No-Maj authorities in Boston, but they hadn’t gotten caught either. Graves had finished an updated report for Picquery and written five letters of condolence to the families of the Boston Aurors as well as one for the British Auror. Connelly wasn’t one of his, but he’d died in the line of duty, on Graves’ watch, so he felt like he needed to. 

Sophie stepped into his office. Her jaw was tight and Graves could see the lines of strain around her mouth and eyes. 

“Back from Boston?” That felt stilted, tense, but Graves wasn’t going to be the one to fire the first shot if she wanted to de-escalate. 

“Oakhurst has this shift. He’s bringing the Brits up to speed; the redheaded witch thinks he’s adorable.” She sat down across from him. “How on earth did you get a Rappaport exemption from Congress?”

“Didn’t.” Graves hadn’t sat back from memo he was reading over.

Sophie shook her head slowly. “So you asked the Brits. That’s….”

“If you are about to say treason, that requires criminal intent to expose and you can get the hell out of my office.” 

“...I was going to say brilliant.”'

Silence fell again. Was she honestly using an interrogation technique on him, hoping that the first person to bring up this morning would reveal a weakness? 

He waited. 

“Percival.” 

“Either say what you want or get out of my office.” He flipped the memo over and noted a few questions in the margins.

“Percival, you weren’t there. He killed _hundreds_ of people. His mother, his sisters, that senator, the people in every brownstone he crashed into, every car he overturned. We had to fake three different gas leaks and a subway crash to explain all the dead No-Majs. The next time he loses control we won’t have Newt Scamander standing by with a thunderbird. And that supremacist bastard gets what he wants.” Sophie’s voice was quiet, neutral.

Graves put the pen down. “I am trying to stop that. And you could help me instead of threatening me.”

““I tried to find a way to protect MACUSA and the Statute of Secrecy without turning you in,” Sophie countered and Graves was still angry enough to find the flicker of uncertainty on her face satisfying. “I don’t want to ruin your career. Or his life.” 

“Then what _do_ you want, Sophie?” 

“Convince me. You tried this morning. I know. I’d just watched Grindelwald nearly kill Cortez and that ob--- _Credence_ nearly kill you. I probably had no room to talk about clouded judgement right then. But you can’t be foolish about this, Percival. You don’t get to just be his lover. You’re an Auror too. And we don’t get to make mistakes.” 

Graves let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, even as having his own words thrown back at him stung. “What you saw in my house was an accident,” he began. “He’s never lost control there before and I should have known bringing up Ilvermorny would have been a trigger--- yes, he got a letter.” He answered her question before she asked it. “And his mother burned it and beat him to within an inch of his life.” 

Sophie rubbed her temple. “Merlin.” She was quiet for a moment. “Accident implies there’s a protocol you would normally follow to handle the obscurus manifesting.”

“The Meadowlands and barrier spells. Newt’s field work happens with two Aurors present. There’s open line of sight there. He’s not as fast as I am; I can get in front of him, turn him away from civilization if he gets to the edge.”

“And if he incapacitates you?” 

“He won’t. I can talk him down. You saw me do it.” Even though he knew the stakes of this conversation, even though it was strange to be talking about Credence like an Auror, so dispassionately, it felt oddly comforting. He’d spent hours sitting in his office with Sophie talking shop, planning operations. He could bring her round. 

“I saw you use blood magic, so even you’re not convinced of that.” 

“We don’t get to make mistakes.” He said it back to her. “I wasn’t letting him loose on New York again.” 

“Blood magic isn’t a procedure. It’s desperation. Apparating away wasn’t an option?” Sophie’s voice had shifted, less tension, more engaged. She had always looked at the work as a puzzle; trying different angles until a new method of approach. It was why Graves had made her his lieutenant. 

“You’ve seen the obscurus. How do I side-along apparate without splinching it or myself?”

“And Stunning isn’t an option. Every Auror in New York couldn’t bring him down.” 

“You damn well tried.” Graves’ voice was bitter, remembering the deep, jagged spellscar across Credence’s spine. 

“Hundreds of dead No-Majs. Global exposure. You would have given the same order Picquery did.” Sophie’s voice was still soft, but she was right. He would have too. He would have done the math and made the call and quietly bartered away another chip of his soul because that was what Aurors did. 

He sighed. “That’s the procedure. I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s a calculated risk, but I refuse to bring MACUSA in until the obscurus is dealt with. You know Picquery will use him as bait.” 

“....you’re in a _mess_ , aren’t you,” Sophie observed. 

“Yes. Until the obscurus is dealt with.” That was only partially true. “Then I’m in less of a mess.” 

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll help.” 

“I’m glad.” He had to say it. “This doesn’t change anything. You threatened me; threatened someone I care about. I’m not forgiving that easily.” 

Sophie rose. “Glad to know the feeling is mutual.” She went to leave but had barely opened the door, however, Graves heard a burst of noise coming from the canteen, headed down towards his office. 

“Graves! Director Graves!” The tall black British Auror was bolting towards his office. “We got him. He got the last train headed to Providence; it’s pulled out already but your Animagus--”

“Oakhurst.”

“He got on the train. He’s keeping the anti-disparition jinx going. Clara--” The Auror saw Graves’ blank face. “The little redheaded witch. Black eye.”

“Yes.”

“She got us the route; says there’s a clear point of engagement about ten miles out-- well away from the Muggles.” 

“How many people are on that train?” Sophie asked quietly.

The British Auror looked uncomfortable. “Two cars. If they’re full….over a hundred people.”

Graves shook his head. “We have to take the risk. McIlvain, get all the Aurors into the briefing room as soon as you can.” 

“Sir.” Sophie obeyed taking the British Auror with her but Grave was already formulating a plan. He leaned against the railing, looking down towards the lobby. They would need sweeper teams; stunning and moving the No-Majs out of the crossfire, with a core team to contain Grindelwald until the sweeper teams had finished and could provide backup. Oakhurst would stay in the sky, out of the sight and maintain the anti-disparition field. He only barely noticed that Picquery had joined him. 

“Madam President.”

“Graves, do I want to know how you got this intelligence?”

Graves looked at her and lied through his teeth. “Oakhurst happened to be flying over the trainyard.” 

“I see.” Picquery glanced down at the lobby, the flurry of activity. “If your little arrangement with the British Aurors comes to light, I _will_ hang you out to dry. Just so you know.”

“Forewarned is forearmed.”

“I’m glad we understand each other. Now get that son of a bitch.” 

“Yes, Madam President.” 

Graves went to join his Aurors. The chaos of the room hushed. “Listen up.” He tossed a stack of photographs to a nearby Auror to pass around. “Grindelwald left Boston on a No-Maj train wearing that face, though he may have resumed his own by now. Look at those two pictures; memorize them. There might be over a hundred No-Majs on that train so you need to be able to distinguish him from the non-combatants. Branson, Campbell, your teams are sweepers. Stupefy and clear the No-Majs out of the way. We’ll Obliviate them after. My team will take point; we engage and contain Grindelwald while the sweepers do their work. Only then do we try to recapture. No one get stupid or arrogant. We know he has two wands and that he’s capable of a large degree of wandless magic, so don’t rely on disarming. This man blasted his way past the best Aurors that we and the Ministry could field. There are already five dead in Boston. Let’s not add to that number. Move out.”

There was no moon and the night was lit only by indifferent starlight when the three teams appeared on the weed-choked border of the railroad. It was bitterly cold, past midnight and Graves could hear the murmurs of _“Tepeo”_ move up and down the ranks. The sweeper teams took up positions on either side of the rails, staying low and out of sight.

Sophie spun into reality next to him. “Your letters still where they always are?” she asked quietly. 

“Left desk drawer.” Graves winced. “...just...make sure this lunatic didn’t change them before you deliver them.” The idea of his last goodbye to his sister and niece being rewritten by Grindelwald was maddening. “Yours?” 

“Tucked in the back cover of the MACUSA regulations handbook.” They stood in silence for a moment, straining to hear the train, then Sophie spoke again. “You write one to him?” 

“Him--oh.” Graves looked away. “No. I…” 

“So it’s new.” 

“Very.”

Tense, uncomfortable silence again. “What do you want me to tell him?” 

Goddamnit. What would he even say to Credence? What did he tell someone he’d barely known for a month, who kissed like the world was ending but that Graves had had nothing, nothing with, nothing like he suddenly, desperately wanted. He’d promised so much and wouldn’t be able to deliver any of it-- Credence’s freedom, his safety, the future that his mother had stolen from him. Was there anything that could make up for the weight of that?

“Tell him that I’m sorry.” God, that was awful. He’d had hours to write those letters to Izzy and Elaine-- not two minutes standing in the darkness of a Massachussetts winter. “That I meant every promise I made and that I’m sorry I couldn’t keep them. That I cared and he should believe that. And that he should go to England with Newt.” He looked at Sophie and decided to trust her. “....ask Tina where he is. If it happens.”

Sophie nodded. “ I will.” She was quiet again for a long moment. “...and I’ll protect him until Scamander can get him to England. I promise.”

“You seem much more keen on my dead wishes than my living ones.” Even Graves could hear the bitterness in his voice.

Sophie flinched. “Don’t fight with me. Not right now, Percival.” 

She was right. “Fair.”

Something was wrong. It was a slow moving train, but by the time they’d assembled the Aurors, briefed everyone and moved out, they only had a few minutes of leeway. As dark and still as the winter night was, they should be able to see lights, hear the rumble. Graves turned away from Sophie. “Goldstein. Apparate up the tracks, bit by bit. Stay out of sight but see what you can find out. Fletcher, same thing, but you go down.” 

They obeyed. Soft whispering started to spread through the ranks. Everyone could tell at this point that they’d been waiting too long at this point, that the train should be in sight. 

Tina reappeared, stumbling and breathing hard. “The train’s stopped a mile back; there are dead No-Majs everywhere; there’s no anti-disparition field. I called for Oakhurst but…” 

“Damn. Give the squad leaders the location.” He got it from her and immediately apparated there, the rest of the Aurors only a few seconds behind him. It was a hellscape. There were dead No-Majs scattered on either side of the train, bodies torn from magic and blood pooling under them, unable to soak into the frozen ground. Only half the lights on the train worked, rendering it eerily still and silent. It was an older train, coal-fired, and Graves could smell that the furnace was still running. Still, it had coasted to a halt. Had the conductor been killed?

“Spread out. Stay alert. Find Oakhurst!” he called.

He moved up into the train car itself, swinging himself in through the back. “ _Lumos_.” Light spilled from his wand, revealing another scene of carnage. It was a first class cabin, brass finishings and plush red seats but scorch marks and holes in the walls spoke of a duel. Hexed and twisted bodies were everywhere. A nine-year old brunette girl laid in the aisle, eyes staring up glassily. A curse had nearly torn her in two. There were brilliantly wrapped Christmas presents still on the luggage rack and Graves’ head spun for a moment with the cognitive dissonance. Some of the gifts had bloodstains. There was, however, no sign of Grindelwald and Graves knew intuitively that they’d failed. He was gone, disapparated and there would be no easy way of finding him now. He must have done something to provoke Oakhurst to attack and well--- the result had been catastrophic, bloody and inevitable. 

“I found him!” Goldstein was shouting outside. Graves ran towards the sound and found her frantically casting healing spells--- but there was so little left of Oakhurst to heal. His legs were so broken and buckled that Graves couldn’t tell that they were intact but it was clearly visible that his wand arm had been shorn clean off. Oakhurst was pale, lips blue from blood loss. Any blood reconjured by magic was being pumped right back out again in an arterial spray, soaking Tina as she knelt next to him. 

“Boss.” Oakhurst choked. 

“Save it. Tell me later,” Graves told him distractedly as he moved to help Tina. The blood soaked his wand, his shirtsleeves, his coat as he placed the tip of the wand on the stump. _”Inurere,_ ” he murmured and Oakhurst choked and gargled as the wound seared itself shut. It was brutal triage magic, but actual healers could regrow an arm as long as they actually had a living patient. 

“He….started killing No-Majs. Throwing ‘em off the train.” 

“Later,” Graves said. “You’ll be fine; tell me later. Fletcher!” The woman was his best apparator, she could side-along two people at once, even as one was doing frantic magic to save the other’s life. “Fletcher!”

“Sir!” Fletcher shoved her way through and nearly retched at the side of Oakhurst. 

“Puke later. Get them to medical now.” The other Auror grabbed both Oakhurst and Tina and they spun out of vision, leaving Graves kneeling in a pool of Oakhurst’s blood, surrounded by shellshocked Aurors. 

It was a disaster. Grindelwald was gone; Graves knew that Medical could work miracles but… He pushed it away and started giving orders. “Branson. Take your squad and go up the rails. Oakhurst said Grindelwald threw No-Majs off the train. Bring them back here. Clean up the evidence. The rest of you, same here. Get them all back on the train.” They had to cover this up. 

It was awful, brutal work. It was hard to find all of bodies in the dark. Sometimes they had to put them back together first before they could be transported back to the train. They didn’t find any survivors. When all of the bodies were back on the train, Graves sent the rest of his team back to MACUSA, then apparated by himself a mile back to where they’d first laid their ambush. There was a rocky hill about one hundred yards back, topped a with a few scraggly pines. He walked along the rails back towards it, then he hopped off and waved his wand at the gravel embankment of the railway. The metal groaned and warped, gravel ran towards him and the wood ties shifted, setting it so that the train would derail into the hill. 

Graves stepped back onto the rails, just past the derailment point, pointed the wand down the tracks and whispered the spell. To the No-Majs, it would be nothing more than a terrible accident, a mundane tragedy. He could feel the strain as the magic labored to move something so immense, so far away, but it gave and the train started to move, to roll with increasing, immense speed. The conductor must have been drunk, they would say. Why else would he have taken this curve so fast? What a tragedy, five days before Christmas. He could hear the train now, an immense growing thunder in the distance, hurtling towards him. He stood on the rails, timing it as the train appeared at the edge of the vision, speeding towards him and at the last possible second, he murmured the next spell and whipped his wand across the rails, sending the train hurtling into the rocks. It hit with a hideous crashing sound of collapsing metal and the furnace ignited immediately, rapidly starting to spread from the engine to the two passenger cars. 

Graves apparated back to New York, appearing in the alley next to the Woolworth Building. He was still soaked in Oakhurst’s blood, but he was too tired, too defeated to care. Most of it had soaked into the coat, his pants, his sleeves, but a few excess drops left a scattered trail on the steps of the Woolworth Building. When he entered the lobby, he saw his Aurors clustered in a group around Tina and Fletcher. 

“Oakhurst?” he asked. Let there be one good thing today. Tina just shook her head, eyes bright with tears. They were broken, shell-shocked. They’d be no use to anyone right now. “The night shift is here. Go home. Go to sleep. Come back in the morning. This isn’t over.” 

As they began to file out, he found the three British Aurors. “Ansonia Hotel is on 73rd and Broadway,” he said. “Push the elevator for the 12th floor, then tap that button with your wand twice and say _Adytum_. The suite there is warded; the house elves will clean your clothes, get you whatever you want. Get some sleep.” 

They murmured their thanks and headed off as well. Soon only Tina remained, clearly waiting to speak to him. Graves pre-empted her. “I know I apparated away this morning.” 

Tina must have been as wrung out as he was. “You’re almost old enough to be his father. And he’s so dependent on you.” 

“I know.” He didn’t have an answer for her. “But I’m not using him.”

“How do I know that?” 

Graves shrugged. “Watch us. If...if I’m doing something wrong, tell me. Call me out, because he won’t.”

Tina sighed. “I suppose that’s the best I can do.” She paused. “Are you coming by? He’ll want to see you.” 

“Not yet,” Graves said. He glanced up at the immense atrium, towards his office and the two good-bye letters there, waiting for for a third. “Have to write a letter first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten Credence! Next chapter is all him. Let me know what you think in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/
> 
> Want to read that good-bye letter? http://archiveofourown.org/works/8791732/chapters/20451025
> 
> So I will be traveling for the holidays and then having eye surgery (elective! no worries!) but that does mean I shouldn't be looking at screens. The next chapter will be slow in coming but I'm not abandoning this. Bear with me!


	10. The Virtues of Small Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence has a better day that Graves does. Beast psychology might not be anything like human psychology, but that's not stopping Newt Scamander. Queenie does magic of a few varieties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any typos-- I am uploading this with my screen magnified to 200% because my eyes are still blurry from surgery. 
> 
> This chapter takes place concurrently with Chapter 9.

Percival had kissed Credence and vanished, leaving him shirtless and alone in this house full of strangers and an indignant Tina. 

“Credence, please come sit. Newt, will you find him a shirt? I’ll likely be called in soon and we should talk.”

“Tina…” Newt started. 

“Newt, he can’t stay with Graves any more.” Credence had noticed that Tina didn’t like calling Percival by his first name, especially when she was angry. And she clearly was. 

“I don’t think that’s your decision,” Newt said quietly. 

“This doesn’t bother you at all? Graves is almost old enough to be his father. Credence lives there and doesn’t have anywhere else to go. None of that bothers you?” 

“I’m not a child,” Credence said softly but no one was listening to him. 

“I don’t think it’s like that,” the blond woman intervened. Queenie? Her name was Queenie. “They like each other a lot, Teen.” The addition made him blush with shame as he realized he must have ‘thought too loudly’ like Percival asked him not to. 

“Queenie, Credence doesn’t know any better. Graves absolutely could be manipulating him--”

“He isn’t.” Credence whispered. He knew what that felt like, the promises and conditions, the faintest of touches as incentive, the casual abandonment when he revealed his failure, his weakness, his ugliness. His heartbeat was starting to race and he felt queasy, like he was losing himself. 

A trickle of panic threaded through Credence but then arms were around him, a steady pressure holding him together, grounding him in reality and sensation and he nearly cried out in relief, thinking Percival had come back. He smelled earth and fur, though, rather than the spice and woodsmoke of Percival’s cologne and recognized almost almost immediately that that wasn’t the case. Newt. Newt was smaller and more wiry, but the pressure was warm and stabilizing, so he closed his eyes and didn’t protest. 

“Well clearly that theory was correct,” Newt commented. He didn’t move, still holding Credence. “Tina, if you’re concerned--- and you might have reason to be-- you might ask Credence? Or wait until Percival comes back?” 

“You’re right,” Tina conceded.

Newt was infallibly gentle. “Credence. Are you alright or would you like me to stay like this?” 

“I’m alright.” Credence remembered what Newt had said. “Theory?”

“You seem to find pressure reassuring. Much like the Burgundian Cat Dragon. I noticed Percival doing it earlier, though he probably didn’t realize what he was doing.”

Credence blinked. “I’m a cat?”

“Not quite. A Burgundian Cat Dragon,” Newt clarified unhelpfully. 

“Newt, please just get him a shirt.”

Credence hesitantly moved away from Newt to sit at the table in front of Tina, trying to think of how ot make her understand. While her disapproval wasn’t as terrifying as his Ma’s, he still felt it keenly. “He isn’t bad,” he protested softly. 

Tina softened. “Credence. I’m not saying he is. But he may be using you in ways you don’t understand.”

“I know the difference.” He stared at his hands. At least now. At least mostly. 

“He’s not asked you to do anything? In exchange for staying with him?”

He hadn’t? Had he? Tina couldn’t be right. Credence racked his mind. _“Call me Percival.” “Lean down so I can kiss you.” “Tell me if you’re afraid.” “Please, Credence, please!”_ The memory of Percival’s desperately out of control face and Queenie abruptly turned pink and left the room. Yes. Percival had asked him for things--- from the small and mundane to the incredibly difficult-- to trust, to believe, but he’d asked for those things as freely as he’d given them. There had only ever been one condition. “He asked me to help with dinner,” Credence admitted. “He really can’t cook. Even with magic.”

Newt entered the room with a shirt in time to hear that and failed to suppress a snicker. 

Tina looked unconvinced and Credence struggled to find words. “He said he would help. That I’d be safe. And I know, I _know_ promises can be broken,” he added with an emphasis that made both Newt and Tina wince. “But he hasn’t. I...I don’t know what else you want.” 

Before Tina could answer, she seemed suddenly distracted by a sound only she could hear. “Wards. Probably MACUSA calling me in.” 

Newt rose. “Credence, would you like to help me feed my creatures?”

“Creatures?” He had a vague memory of an immense golden thing flying from the subway station but…

“You’ll love them,” Newt promised. 

Credence followed Newt without speaking out of the room, pulling on the shirt as he went. When the reached the bedroom, he was confused to see Newt pull a suitcase from underneath the bed, open it and then disappear into it like he was going down a set of stairs.

“C’mon!” Newt called. 

Credence swallowed and followed, ended up descending down into a small cluttered hut-like space. Every spare inch was covered in vials, books, maps, photographs. Huge burlap bags were stacked against the far wall. 

“I’m so sorry,” Newt said, from where he was standing near the only ounce of free space on the counter mixing something with a mortar and pestle. “Tina and I shouldn’t have talked over to you.”

“I’m twenty-two. I’m not a child.” 

“No one is calling you a child.” Newt’s voice was neutral. “It’s just...Credence, you don’t know very much about this.”

Credence bit his lip and looked away. He didn’t know what to say to that. 

“No one is against you. And you should be allowed to make your own decisions because you aren’t a child.” People could be driven together when they thought the world was against them, often with dangerous results. And while Newt didn’t think that Percival was a Leta Lestrange by any means, he wanted Credence to still have people he trusted in case Newt’s instincts were wrong. “But you are very young and you have very little experience. Neither of those things are true about Percival. That combination makes Tina worry.” 

“I don’t know what to tell her though. She won’t listen.” 

“She’ll have to see that it’s not a problem to believe it,” Newt said. Credence supposed that was fair, and honestly, it made him feel less damaged to know other people doubted promises and wanted to see proof as well. 

Newt seemed to be done, depositing whatever he had mixed in a wheelbarrow along with buckets and bags of feed. “C’mon.” 

Newt was right. Credence loved it. The animals were strange and wondrous, so much so that he didn’t notice Newt carefully steering him away from one enclosure through which cold air and snow were intermittently drifting. He let Credence feed the mooncalves and the younger man laughed in delight as they crowded around him. It reminded him of the children they fed at the church, but so much more joyous, jumping and burbling and pushing past each other.   
The church that he’d ripped to shreds in his rage. Ma and Chastity. Senator Shaw. Credence choked and stumbled away from the creatures, pale grey and wide-eyed and so shy and gentle. How could they be so calm around him when they should be panicking, fleeing from the threat? Couldn’t they sense it from his mere presence?

“Credence.” Newt’s voice was quiet. “What are you feeling?” 

“I killed that senator. I killed Ma and Chastity too. I’m a monster. A monster!” He stumbled backwards again, collided with Newt and the magizoologist’s arms wrapped around him again. This time, however, the pressure didn’t help and he pushed away. “You don’t understand; I should be put down; MACUSA was right to try and kill me; I--”

“They were _not._ ” He had never heard Newt be so emphatic. He fell silent, staring at the other man, pleading silently with him to tell him he was wrong.

Newt pushed his floppy red hair back from his face, eyes fixed somewhere over Credence’s left shoulder. “Do you remember what I told you in the subway?” 

“....that you could help. That there was someone else like me.” 

“Yes. An eight year old girl in Sudan. She’d been imprisoned, abused for her magic. Much like you. Her obscurus killed a member of her tribe. Was she a monster? A scared eight year old girl?” 

“I---But that’s different.”

“How so?” Newt asked gently, almost curiously. “Do you control it? Do you direct to attack people?” 

Credence glanced to one side. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I….I thought I was dreaming at first. Nightmares. I didn’t realize it until I saw newspapers about Senator Shaw that anything was actually happening. But it attacks people I was angry with. It left Modesty-- my sister-- alone. I heard Percival talking to it. It didn’t hurt him.”

“I thought as much.” Newt paused for a moment and seemed to be fussing with his cuffs, finally rolling up his left sleeve. “Do you remember seeing Frank? He was a thunderbird; big, golden. You weren’t really….in one piece at the time, so…”

“Only a little,” Credence answered. “What does it matter?”

“He did this to me when I first found him.” He extended his arm and Credence could see fine lines criss-crossing his arm. “He’d been trafficked, you see. Stolen and abused and chained and he couldn’t tell the difference between me and the people who’d hurt him at first.” He glanced at Credence. “Is he a monster?” 

“No, but….he’s an animal. He doesn’t know better.”

“And neither does your obscurus. It’s not human, Credence. It’s not like you or I. It doesn’t make conscious decisions; it lashes out when it feels its endangered. You may be able to learn to control it, and it may take its cues from your subconscious, but you didn’t attack your family. It did.” 

He couldn’t be right...could he? “You sound so sure,” Credence said. 

Newt shrugged. “I’m not sure about the obscurus,” he said. “There’s been so little research done on them. We scarcely believed they still existed. But I am pretty sure about you. Now come on. The Occamys are next.”

By the time they emerged, Tina had reported into MACUSA, so only Queenie was still there. “If the creatures are fed, I think it’s our turn,” she said. “Do both of you like mushrooms?” 

Credence wasn’t even sure what that question meant. You ate what you were served, so...maybe Queenie was asking if he was hungry. “Yes, please,” he answered. 

“Only when you make them,” Newt qualified, sliding the suitcase safely away again. 

Queenie beamed and started to cook. She had so much less space than Percival did-- a small rickety gas stove, barely a few feet of counter cluttered with ingredients, but her food charms were beautiful. Mushrooms, onions, garlic and sausage sizzled in a stockpot, filling the small apartment with a rich, deep smell that made Credence’s stomach growl. 

Newt glanced over from where he was sitting at the table, making a few notes in a battered leather notebook. “You mentioned Percival can’t cook. She can. You’re in for a treat.” 

Queenie tapped the stockpot with her wand and it filled with broth. Credence couldn’t help; he stood and drifted over towards her. “Can I watch?” 

“Of course.” Queenie shifted to give him a better view. “It’s zuppa toscana with beef sausage. Tina always likes it with mushrooms. I don’t mind either way, but I’m used to making it like this.” She lifted her wand. Parsley and and some sort of dark green lettuce that Credence didn’t recognize floated into mid-air and burst apart into tiny bits before fluttering down into the pot, not a single piece missing its target. Cream swirled itself into the soup, which thickened as slow bubbles emerged from the its depths. 

Graves’ cooking charms were efficient; they made food that was...equally efficient. It was salted appropriately; cooked appropriately, served at the right temperature. Queenie cooked with joy and Credence was enthralled. Her wand swished and flour shot into the air, spinning in a tiny vortex as eggs, milk, butter, water and yeast joined the mixture. It compacted itself into a golden doughy ball only for a second, then broke apart, splitting into six different rolls that rose, baked and browned even as they drifted to the table where Newt was writing. 

A small green stick creature crept out from under his lapel. A bowtruckle, Newt had called it. Queenie glanced conspiratorially at Credence and pressed one finger over her lips. She flicked her wand again and a small piece of one of Newt’s rolls broke off and drifted to where the small creature could grab it.

“You’re not supposed to give Pickett human food, Queenie,” Newt observed, not looking up from his notebook, but he was smiling. 

“Well then put your book away and eat before he steals any more, then,” Queenie said. 

Credence joined them at the table. The soup was steaming; it smelled amazing and as soon as he started to eat, he mostly forgot that Queenie and Newt were there. It was only at the end of the meal that he spoke again, as Queenie motioned the dishes into the sink and Newt went back to check on one of the creatures. 

“That was really good,” he said softly. “I should have told you earlier. Thank you.” 

Queenie beamed. “Oh honey, you did.” 

“I…” _“She reads minds. Try not to think too loudly about kissing me.”_ Credence flinched and all of the easy rapport he had had with the smiling blond woman drained away. It wasn’t that. She was too good, too kind, too full of light to hate him for that; he could already tell that. 

“Honey?” 

“How do you not hate me?” He was a monster; she must have seen it. He’d killed Senator Shaw, Chastity, his Ma. He’d been as violent, as hateful as they, let the rage tear himself apart. He had screamed at Percival that he was happy she was dead and he still didn’t know if he had meant it or not. “You...you must see.” 

“Oh, honey.” Queenie shook her head. “I see lots of things but I don’t see a monster.”

“H-how?” Credence was shaking but it didn’t feel like the obscurus showing itself. It was confusion, disbelief. 

“You’ve been hurt so terribly by people who should have loved you and still just wanted to be good,” Queenie said staring at him. Credence could feel her in his mind, sparkling like champagne and shining like starlight. “You never wanted the obscurus.”

“But I was so angry at Senator Shaw, at Grindelwald, at Ma…”

“Honey. Everyone gets angry.” She laughed softly. “I want to jinx Abernathy’s tie to his ears nine days out of ten. I’ve heard your squeeze want to break a bureaucrat’s legs before when he’s too mad to keep his walls up. We just...don’t have something that acts on our thoughts even if we ain’t planning to. Getting angry don’t make you a monster. It makes you a person.” 

Percival wanted him; Newt studied him. Queenie Goldstein had no reason to lie; no reason to be invested and her green eyes were as open and generous as the moment Percival had guided Credence inside the apartment. It felt like hope.

Credence started to cry. It felt like something had snapped in his chest and he couldn’t stop it. He cried for himself and for Modesty and for the strained look Percival got whenever he heard about something Grindelwald had done wearing his face. He cried about the lost possibility of Ilvermorny and the scars that Percival had been able to heal and the ones that he hadn’t. His sides hurt from the force of it and he still couldn’t stop.

He heard rushing feet and Newt’s voice. “Queenie?” 

“It’s okay,” he heard her say and he realized that at some point he had collapsed against her and that she’d managed to move them a few feet to the worn red sofa near the table. Her hand was in his hair. “I think he just needs to get it out.” 

By the time he could finally control it, get it to stop, his sides hurt and there was a damp spot on Queenie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, hollow and worn but somehow feeling lighter. He wiped his nose.

“Oh that? Don’t worry about it.” Queenie slid her wand over the spot and it vanished. “Good as new.”

Credence managed a half-smile. “Useful.” 

She touched his cheek. “You’re too sweet, honey, you know that? Mr. Graves ain’t got any idea what he’s got in you.”

Credence blushed and looked down, embarrassed not only by how casually Queenie spoke about them but the implication that there was any way that he could be any good to Percival. 

“Tell you what,” Queenie said, rising from the sofa. “Let me do something nice for you. Come with me.” 

Credence followed her quizzically. 

“Do you like your hair like that? All….raggedy?” She was standing in the bedroom, sifting through a drawer. Credence could hear the clinking of glass bottles and a faint smell of perfume and cosmetics drifted out of it. 

“Ma used to cut it. I haven’t done anything to it…” He tried to do the math. “In five weeks?” 

She withdrew a mother of pearl comb that that sparkled with what Credence was beginning to identify as magic and a matching hand mirror. “Let me do it up for you-- as long or short as you like.”

It couldn’t hurt, could it? “If you’d like.” 

“Sit on down then.” Credence obeyed and she started to run the comb through his hair. “What do you want it like?”

Credence had no idea. At first, he’d thought about Percival’s haircut but Queenie burst out in laughing protest. “Honey, no. Nothing against the Director, but he always looks like he’s about to storm some Dark wizard’s castle. You’re too young for that.”

“...Like Newt’s then? But not so...floppy.”

Queenie laughed again. “Sounds good to me.” She worked in silence for a moment and Credence could feel the magic against his scalp. It tingled as some of his hair grew, some clipped itself short. After a few minutes, she handed Credence the mirror. “There. Take a look now. What do you think?” 

There was a stranger staring back at him. Not gaunt, not tired, not scared, though a little red in the eyes from crying. His hair was the same length all over, hanging down slightly over his ears and down his neck. He’d never realized that it would curl if he allowed it to get that long but there were gentle black waves framing his face. He reached up and touched it, pulled one of the waves straight and let it bounce back. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

“You’ll want a hair tonic or a charm comb to keep it that way,” Queenie said. “I’m sure Mr. Graves has a brand that he likes.” 

“I’ll ask him,” Credence said and then on pure impulse, turned on the bed and hugged her around the waist. “Thank you.” 

She returned it, tousling his newly wavy hair. “Never a problem, honey.”

As the day wore on, Credence realized that this must be what Percival meant when he talked about Sophie being his friend. What having friends must be like. It was wonderful. Queenie put on music and tried to teach him how to jitterbug, though she wasn’t sure if he should be leading or following. When Credence tried to ask what she meant, she rephrased the question in a way that made him blush madly with embarrassment and desire and Newt look up from his notebook and go _”Queenie!”_

They had creamed chicken over egg noodles for dinner, but afterwards, Credence started to get nervous, looking out the window, listening for the sound of someone coming up the stairs, even though he knew it was likely that Percival wouldn’t return until the early morning. Still, nervousness grew in the pit of his stomach. The others spoke about Gellert Grindelwald as astonishingly powerful, stronger than any of them, and Percival had gone to work with the explicit purpose of finding and stopping him. He had said goodbye like he might not come back. 

Credence couldn’t sit still, walking back and forth between the table and the window. His Ma would have punished him for his fidgeting, put him in front of the altar to pray until his knees hurt from the unvarnished wooden planks. He wasn’t thinking about punishment, but he slipped out of the kitchen and into the unlit bedroom the two sisters shared. He glanced behind him to make sure neither Newt or Queenie were following him, then knelt. The semi-darkness, the position-- on his knees, hands folded-- were a strange, familiar comfort in and of themselves. 

He found himself struggling for words though, unsure what of the ritual phrases made sense, if he even had any right to speak before finally giving up and speaking plainly. “I’m not praying for myself. I don’t much have the right to. I know. But...Percival Graves is a good man. He might not even know it. I don’t even know if he believes in You, but he is doing Your work.” Some of the words were coming now. “He’s spent long enough in the valley of the shadow of death, even if he doesn’t think I see it. Watch over him. Let him fear no evil.” The last bit was selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. “Let him come home.” 

Credence stayed in the darkened room for a few minutes more before rejoining the others. It had helped, at least slightly-- the familiarity of it, having at the very least asked. The pit in his stomach remained, but he was able to sit still, to make some kind of conversation with Queenie. He had almost been convinced to go to sleep on the couch, as he’d refused to take either of the sister’s bed’s from them when Tina apparated in the living room. 

“Teenie?” Queenie rose from where she’d been reading a magazine.

Newt got to Tina first, taking her coat and gesturing for her to sit.“How is it?” he asked, hanging her coat up for her. 

“Not good.” Tina looked worn and defeated. “Is there any dinner left?” 

“Creamed chicken and noodles. I’ll warm it up for you.” Queenie answered.

“...He got to Boston; killed five Aurors there,” she said. “We trapped him there and then I don’t know how Gr--- Percival got the intel, but they found out he was taking a train out to Providence.” She shook her head. “He was gone by the time we got there. It was a mess. One of our team-- Graves’ personal Aurors died too. Oakheart?”

“Oakhurst,” Credence said softly. “Taylor Oakhurst.” Percival talked sometimes about his work in the evening. Never in any great detail, but he remembered that name in particular as one that Percival had mentioned with a mixture of respect and exasperation. He was new, too, Credence thought he remembered, only on Graves’ team for a year. 

Tina nodded, lips pressed tightly together. “Yeah. Him.” 

Queenie put the bowl in front of Tina and they were quiet for a minute as she ate. “I’m sorry. Not eaten since this morning.” She wiped her mouth with a hand then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Credence. I didn’t tell you anything. Graves is fine. He’ll be here shortly; he said he had something to do first.” 

Credence nodded. “And his friend? She’s not going to--”

“He says that Miss McIlvain isn’t happy but you’re not in any danger.” She rose. “I should go back; see if the night shift needs help. We’re so understaffed trying to cover our shifts and Boston’s.” 

“No, you are not,” Newt said, taking her arm. “Did anyone actually give you an order to report back?”

“No, but…” 

“So you are going to bed.”

“Someone has to let Graves in through the wards.”

“Queenie can do that. And didn’t he ask you to call him Percival?”

“Yes, and it’s weird,” Tina protested as Newt steered her into the bedroom. 

Queenie glanced at Credence. “I’m assuming you’re sitting up with me?” 

“If you don’t mind.” He tried at least, but as it crept past midnight, he started to nod off until Queenie emphatically pointed him to the couch, promising to wake him the second Percival arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/


	11. Goddamn Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves hits a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: explicit sexual content

Graves didn’t go to Credence. Not immediately. It had taken nearly two hours to write a letter that he could live with. He’d torn up three drafts and had to walk away from the fourth and lean on the balcony until his heart stopped pounding with terror at the idea of failing Credence. Had it ever been this hard to write for Izzy and Elaine? It must have been--- but he’d been writing these letters for years, since the very first he’d written in France and given to Theseus. This was raw and new and he barely knew what to say. The fifth draft had gone into an envelope. It wasn’t right; there was more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words. 

He took the elevator down to leave. He had stepped into the side alley to disapparate when he noticed the stiffness of his coat, his sleeves. He’d forgotten about Oakhurst’s blood, just for a little while, and it had dried into the fabric.

_“Boss. He started killing No-Majs. Throwing ‘em off the train.”_ Frustration poured back into Graves, an enormous pressure in his chest. It had been mercy, of all things, that had killed Oakhurst, not his brashness or his arrogance but his unwillingness to let Grindelwald continue to kill. The idea made Graves sick to his stomach. And they had been too late. If they had hurried, if they had chosen a closer ambush point, maybe he could have held on. Maybe his injuries would have been less severe; he wouldn’t have bled for so long.

Graves apparated to his house. The living room was dark, only the faint yellow of the street lights filtering ghost-like through the curtains. He caught up the bottle of brandy in passing as he walked into the kitchen and thumped it onto the table. He hadn’t bothered to pick up a glass.

_”Scourgify”_ Graves muttered, swiping his wand in the correct shape. He felt the coat regain its flexibility as Oakhurst’s blood vanished from it and the rest of his clothes. Because it was as easy as that. Clean the coat, forget about it. Bury another Auror. A kid. Barely an Auror. No older than Credence. The tightness in Graves’ chest was unbearable. It made him want to scream in anger and grief and frustration. He’d vaporized his closet doors the last time he felt like this. He dropped down in the chair, thumbed the cork out of the bottle of brandy and took a long swig, wincing slightly at the burn of it. 

He’d been mostly honest with Credence. Half of the point of the brandy was association, even nine tenths of the point. It was something Graves had always done to relax; a habit he’d inherited from his father. Hell, his father had bought him his first bottle of the stuff. It was a lie though, on nights like this, when he’d lost one of his. His Auror, his team, his failure. Then the point was the alcohol and he drank until the pressure in his chest let go and he could even conceive of taking a potion to sleep. 

Credence. He’d be waiting. Tina must have told them to expect him by now. Graves slid the bottle away, put his elbow on the kitchen table, his head in that hand. The idea of facing Credence right now, of touching that gorgeous face and admitting that he’d put him in danger was impossible, but he didn’t have any other option. He wouldn’t make the younger man wait or worry. Graves leaned back in the chair and let out a long exhale, closing his eyes for a moment until he could control himself again, could smile and bear it and be as reassuring as Credence needed him to be. 

Credence had drifted off under a thin brown blanket on the couch when the sound of the door woke him. He blinked, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. 

“Is he awake?” Percival’s voice was low and worn. 

“I don’t think so. Are you staying?” Queenie was equally quiet. 

“Not for long. I have to get back.”

“I’ll put an exception in the wards for you. Tina told us about Oakhurst. I’m so sor---”

“Don’t. I don’t like you in my head to begin with. Don’t even try it now.” Percival’s voice had grown an edge, baritone with threat. 

“I’m not _in_ your head and you know that. You’re too good of an Occlumens. It’s just obvious. And your fancy steel wall isn’t going to make you not hurt.” Queenie’s voice was as soft as Percival’s, but indignant and insistent. 

“I am aware of both the uses and shortcomings of Occlumency.” 

“Let that wall down with him, Director. It’ll kill you if you don’t.” 

Percival snorted. “What do you want me to do, Miss Goldstein? Tell him I failed him? That the man who would use him to tear down the world is loose? And if he’s not persuadable, Grindelwald will torture him until he is? Or override his mind?”

“He knows Grindelwald is free. Tina told him. And all he asked about was if you were safe, if Miss McIlvain had betrayed you. He’s stronger than you think and you're not invincible.”

“Merlin, don’t you think I know that?” Percival tried to step around her as they argued in whispers. 

Queenie moved to block his path. “Then let him help you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Percival bit out. “This is not the first time I’ve buried an Auror.” 

“And how much brandy over how long did that take?”

Percival snarled in a way that Credence hadn’t ever quite heard before and Queenie quailed. “Go to bed, Miss Goldstein. I’m not having this conversation with you.” 

Credence closed his eyes again when Percival came over, knowing he wasn’t supposed to have heard that conversation. 

“Hey,” Percival knelt down on the floor next to the couch. “You awake?” He brushed his shoulder. 

“...hey,” Credence said softly. 

Percival smiled and even in the darkness Credence could see the strain behind him. It was as obvious as Queenie had said. “My gorgeous wonder.” He slid a hand into his hair, then blinked. “When did this get….”

“Queenie used her charm comb on it.” He couldn’t stay silent. “You didn’t have to be mean to her.” 

Graves winced and looked away. “So you weren’t asleep.” He had been unfair, but the last thing he had wanted to do was to talk about Oakhurst, about any of it, not when all he was here to do was reassure Credence he was alive and well. 

“No. And I do want you to talk to me.” If there was something that Credence could do for Percival, he wanted to do it. He could see the strain in the older man’s face, felt it like physical pain. 

Percival sighed and turned to lean back against the couch. “I don’t know if I can.” 

Credence slipped out from under the blanket and moved to sit next to him, legs touching. “Try?” 

Goddamnit. Graves wasn’t going to be able to keep it together with Credence doing this. “I’m not...I’m fine,” he insisted. “Tell me something good. Tell me what you did today.” 

“Newt let me feed the mooncalves,” Credence said, still watching Graves’ face. 

“Moon--of course he brought that suitcase back. Because that went really well last time.” Graves groaned. Even if Newt’s suitcase was the only reason MACUSA had ever stumbled onto the realization that he had been replaced. It didn’t matter at this point anyway. The man who had worn his face, demoted Tina, manipulated Credence, and nearly gotten both Newt and Tina killed was loose. He hadn’t been quick enough or smart enough; Grindelwald was gone and six Aurors were dead. 

“Percival.” Credence moved to face him, reaching to touch his face. “It’s okay. I want you to tell me.” 

Graves shook his head. “I’m fine. I am.” He forced a smile, taking his hand and kissing it. “You’ve been through enough already anyway. I don’t want to burden--”

“You are not fine. You’re smiling wrong. Now stop lying,” Credence snapped. The fakeness of the other man's smile was sending shivers down his spine.

Graves stared at him for a moment, totally stunned. 

Credence flinched. “I’m sorry. I--”

“No. No. I...I’m smiling wrong?” 

“When you’re actually smiling, you get crow’s feet,” Credence muttered. 

“I get crow’s feet.” Graves echoed with a slow smile and damn it, Credence was right. He could feel the skin crinkle at the edge of his eyes. “You know, in the past three days, you have called me both stupid _and_ old. I must really like you.” He touched the younger man’s face.

“Then talk to me,” Credence persisted and Graves felt the tension immediately pour back into his body, the pressure.

“God. I can’t.” He shook his head. “I can’t talk about it. Even if I think about it, it feels like my chest is being crushed and I can’t breathe.” He inhaled shakily. “That sounds insane. I know--”

“That’s what the obscurus feels like,” Credence told him softly. 

“God, how do you ever stop it?” Graves desperately wished that he had drank more before having this conversation. “I would have leveled the city to the ground by now if I was you.”

Credence _didn’t_ stop it. It wore itself out, got away from the threat, killed its enemies and only then did he come back to himself. But that wasn’t really what Percival was asking. It was the closest the other man would come to asking for help.

“Someone talks me down,” Credence said softly and slid into his lap. “You’ve done it for me. Let me do it for you.”

Graves winced. The pressure was growing and unbearable. “I _can’t_ ,” he said again with a thread of desperation in his voice. 

Credence kissed him, cupping Graves’ face between his hands, sealing their mouths together and Graves lost the last bit of his control. He pressed into the kiss with a soft sound, pulling Credence tight against him with one arm. His other hand pulled at the younger man’s borrowed shirt and undershirt, needing to untuck them, wanting them off, wanting his skin. 

Credence broke the kiss only reluctantly, panting as he let Graves pull both shirts off over his head. The younger man reached for the lapels of Graves’ coat and Graves had a sudden vision of Credence’s hands marked with Oakhurst’s blood and he shuddered violently. He caught the other man’s wrists, unable to let Credence touch him, touch the garment even he knew he’d cleaned it, that Scouring Charm would have removed every trace of blood.

“Percival?” 

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Just...let me.” He was gasping. His heart was hammering more in panic and fear than desire. He couldn’t be in this apartment any longer. His house only halfway felt like home any more but it was still better than kneeling in a worn living room that belonged to someone else. He felt for the wards and silently recanted everything abrupt he had said to Queenie when he realized she had added the exception to them. Still holding Credence’s wrists, he disapparated. 

Graves let him go as soon as they appeared in the bedroom. The older man moved away, stripping off the coat and tossing it in a corner with another shudder. The blazer and vest followed. He was thinking too much about Oakhurst now, how the blood had soaked into the fabric, the layers. He couldn’t bear it on his skin. 

“Percival,” Credence said again. The room was dark and Graves was glad he couldn’t see the look of concern on the younger man’s face. “Talk to--” 

“He cut Oakhurst’s goddamn arm off, is that what you want me to talk about?” Graves’ voice broke with strain. “A kid no older than you. He cut his arm off and Tina didn’t know how to cauterize it but she kept healing him anyway and he kept. bleeding. out. There was more blood than any one human body should have on that coat and I don’t want you touching it.” 

Credence didn’t say anything or even acknowledge that Graves spoke, circling to stand in front of him again, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them and pushing it off his shoulders. Graves couldn’t stop now that he’d started, words pouring out now, even as he yanked his undershirt off. “And we lost. He cut his way through five Aurors in Boston. He butchered Oakhurst on the train along with sixty-odd No-Majs and their goddamn Christmas presents. He took five months of my life, sent trapped presents to my niece and we lost. We got there in time to hide the bodies and he’s loose and you’re in terrible danger because of it and I’m so, so sorry.” He was shaking, barely noticing that Credence had taken his hands and pulled him forward to the edge of the bed until his knees hit the edge of it and he collapsed in front of the now-sitting Credence, head against his chest.

“It’s okay,” Credence said softly. His fingers brushed his face. “I don’t think you’re bad.” 

Graves wept. His entire body shook with the force of it. He hadn’t cried since he left England-- and Theseus--nearly a decade ago, since Cador had died before that but now, the force of it made his lungs hurt. He could barely breathe. He was holding Credence’s arms so tightly he knew his nails must be digging into the younger man’s skin, but he couldn’t seem to get his grip to relax and he gasped his apologies out between sobs. He wasn’t even sure if he was apologizing for his grip, his loss of control, his failure to protect Credence or something else entirely but he finally, eventually slowed and grew quiet. 

He felt hollow and worn. He was weary and his ribs ached from sobbing, but the overwhelming pressure in his chest had eased. He didn’t want to admit it, but Queenie may have been right. He lifted his head, kissed the red marks on Credence’s upper arms. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was raspy. “I hurt you.” 

“Scratches.” Credence dismissed them. He touched Graves’ face. “There’s something I don’t think you understand, Percival.”

“Lots of things, probably,” Graves couldn’t help muttering. 

“You say I’m in danger like that’s new. It’s not,” Credence said softly. “What’s new is that someone fought for me at all.” 

Graves’ eyes burned again. “You’re a goddamn miracle,” he got out and kissed him again. He wrapped an arm around Credence, moving them both fully onto the bed. The younger man let out a sharp gasp and he pressed into the kiss with a sudden and inexplicable desperation. 

Credence’s fingers pushed into Graves’ hair, threading through the central sweep and the younger man muttered something against Graves’ lips that Graves could barely hear. 

“Wait, Credence, what?” Graves touched his bare shoulder. 

“Say it again.”

“Goddamn miracle?” Graves asked quizzically and Credence nodded a little brokenly. 

Shit. A wave of rage washed over Graves for a moment. Another broken promise the man wearing his face had made, another facile blandishment, a lure and a lie. He hated it. To hell with that supremacist bastard. He got to kill Oakhurst and five other Aurors, to steal five months of Graves’ life and a larger chunk of his sanity than he ever wanted to admit. He didn’t get this. He pressed a damp kiss against Credence’s ear. “You are a goddamn miracle,” he told him, voice low, intense. “You are _my_ goddamn miracle.” 

Credence buried his face against Percival’s shoulder, shifting under the older man so that their legs were intertwined. There was no cologne this time, just the faintest hint of sweat and his skin was warm and smooth beyond where it dimpled into scars. Percival wanted him. He kept his promises and even if it was foolish and selfish to ask him to say the words his doppelganger had said, to say them and mean them, he couldn’t help the shiver of pleasure when he did. 

Percival was still whispering, leaving a damp line of kisses on Credence’s neck, from earlobe to collarbone in between words. “You are my miracle. That you believe anything coming out of my mouth is a miracle. That you’re still here; that you can still care about someone after everything you went through is a goddamn miracle.” 

Credence was going to cry if Percival kept talking, so he lifted his head and kissed him, silencing them both. He pulled Percival’s lower lip into his mouth, sucked lightly and let it go, blushing with pleasure when he felt Percival tremble. His hands skimmed down the other man’s sides, the long arching scar, the leather of his belt, the curve of his ass and he found himself blushing deeply even as Percival’s brief chuckle rumbled against his chest. 

“Do you want to see me, Credence?” he asked softly against his mouth and the seemingly casualness of that offer makes Credence go half-hard against the older man’s thigh. 

“Y-yes.”  
Percival kissed him one last time, pressing close against him, tongue sliding and tasting until Credence whimpered. The older man drew back just long enough to whisper a spell. The words were foreign, redolent with power and then Percival was naked under Credence’s hands, completely so. Credence jumped, blushing. He hadn’t expected….

“It’s alright,” Percival murmured softly, moving up to his elbows and knees, hovering over Credence, letting him look and explore. Credence slid his hands down Percival’s back, his sides. His hands spanned over the small of his back, traced the long arcing scar, brushing a thumb over his hipbone. “Like that one?” Percival murmured.

“Never seen all of it,” Credence said. The scar trailed off a few inches under his belt. He blushed again, then reached further, brushing him lightly, remembering the look on Percival’s face. The skin was soft, especially at the tip as Credence rubbed his thumb over it. The older man’s reaction was immediately gratifying, a sharp inhale, a half-moan as Percival looked to one side, biting his lip. 

Merlin. How in hell’s bells had he ended up with a twenty-two year old tease in his bed? Credence learned fast; listened and watched and seemed to be merciless in the application of what he learned. Graves didn’t even have the breath to be embarrassed about how fast he was hardening, how likely it was that he was going to go to pieces again. He kissed just under Credence’s ear, ran a wand-callused hand over his skin, brushed a thumb over a nipple again and again until it went hard under the touch. “Turnabout is fair play,” he murmured in his ear. “Do I get to see you?” 

Credence went red, but nodded. 

“Say it.”

“Yes. Please.” It was only the rumble in Percival’s voice that made him able to agree, the way the other man trembled and gasped when he touched him. 

Percival touched his belt, then paused. “Is it better for me to do this or you?” he asked softly. “Or I can just Vanish it. Like I did my clothes.”

“...you do it.”

Graves could see how nervous he looked again and he hated it. “Of course,” he said, but he didn’t reach for the buckle right away. Instead, he kissed a damp line down Credence’s throat, tongue sliding into the hollow until Credence squirmed and panted. The movement under Graves, hips rolling against his erection was distracting, making desire curl in the pit of his stomach. He panted against the younger man’s neck before biting his collarbone lightly, just letting his teeth scrape over the skin. He unfastened the belt and drew it free, unable to keep back the grin of satisfaction when Credence didn’t seem to notice. 

Credence didn’t, at least not until he heard the faint clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor and even then, he was too absorbed in Percival to panic. He lifted his hips to let the other man get the rest of his clothes away, still blushing. The heat in his face, low in his stomach only intensified when Percival kissed the inside of his thigh, the same wet kisses he’d given to his neck before closing his mouth around his cock. 

Credence bit his lip to keep back a cry, one hand digging into the grey duvet even as the other brushed helplessly over Percival’s shoulders, back, neck, hair. The older man’s mouth was damp and hot; Credence could barely breathe, barely think. They were skin-on-skin and it wasn’t enough. He was panting, squirming under the other man’s mouth, but it still wasn’t enough. He clutched at the other man, tugged at his hair. “Percival.” 

Graves’ reaction was immediate, moving up to kiss his neck, fingers tousling his hair. “What is it?” He couldn’t read Credence’s tone. The younger man was flushed and panting and he buried his face against Graves’ neck as soon as he moved up next to him. “Credence, what is it?” Had he done something wrong?

“I want more,” Credence’s voice was barely audible but Graves heard it anyway and had to suppress the incredible rush of desire at the words. 

“Anything you want,” Graves murmured against his mouth. He didn’t think he could harden further but he did, hips rocking almost by instinct against Credence’s thigh. The friction was a low buzz in his brain and he wanted to give Credence anything, anything he wanted. He knew right now though that asking too much of Credence risked panicking him, risked waking the specters in his brain about how this was wrong and Graves couldn’t risk that right now, not when he needed Credence so much to hold himself together. “Do you want to be inside me?” 

Credence choked at the offer even as Graves could feel his body react, hips shivering against Graves’ thigh. “That’s….” 

“Perfectly fine,” Graves answered with just a touch of emphasis as he reached down, wrapping a hand around both of them, stroking in unison. “I’d like that too, Credence.” God, he would. He wanted so much from Credence and all of this was so fragile. Either one of them could get caught. Either one of them could get killed. New York might become even more unsafe for Credence than it already was. It probably would. He would have to give this gorgeous wonder up and the thought threatened to break him even as he ran a hand through Credence’s hair. “Please,” he repeated. “I’d like that too.” 

There was something terribly alone on Percival’s face. The expression scared Credence and he silenced the other man’s plea with a kiss. “Yes,” he said, the word hitched and breathy as Percival touched them both. The older man’s hand was wand-and-quill callused, rasping softly against their skin in a slow, almost forgetful way. 

Percival kissed him, tongue sliding over his lower lip, into his mouth. Credence was vaguely aware that the other man had waved his hand, summoning a tube of something into his hand. He wasn’t really paying attention; Percival’s hand on his erection, his mouth on his, the dizzying knowledge of what Percival had proposed kept him distracted, needy. It took him a moment to process what the tube was, what Percival was doing with his other hand. The knowledge was erotic, scorching through Credence and he pressed up into the kiss. 

He was so hard, hips pushing against Percival’s hand and it still wasn’t enough. The desire was almost painful, making him pant against Percival’s mouth, squirm against his hand. It was hard to think.  
Credence’s mouth was dry with desire by the time the older man spoke again. “You sure?” he asked and Credence could have screamed with frustration. 

“Yes, damnit!” He’d been spending too much time around Percival and his Ma would have been furious at his language. But she would have been furious about a lot of things and right now, all Credence cared about was Percival _doing_ something. 

Percival laughed breathlessly. “You are full of surprises,” he said again, even as he shifted slightly, rocking back and Credence found his breath choking in his throat as he felt Percival slide around him, hot and tight and he couldn’t help but squirm, arching up into it. 

“Shit! Credence, easy, easy…” Graves gasped against Credence’s neck. “Been awhile.” He rocked back further, getting used to it again and wasn’t able to keep back the soft moan at the friction. It had been more than awhile. It had been years. Eight years since he’d risked so much, dropped so much of his guard, so many of his walls and for someone he’d known for less than a month. Credence was an impossibility, a miracle, a wonder and the look on the younger man’s face blew him away as he slowly started to move. His eyelids had fluttered shut and his mouth was parted, lips swollen from kisses, totally unabashed, unashamed. 

Graves brushed a hand over Credence’s cheek, his jaw. “You’re a goddamn miracle,” he said again and his throat closed up with an emotion that he couldn’t-- or didn’t dare-- articulate as he started to move. 

Credence couldn’t help whimpering, sitting up to wrap his arms around the older man even as he moved. He was dwarfed by Percival in this position, Percival on top of him, around him. He was inside Percival, the other man hot and moving around him. He could still hear the older man’s voice near his ear, broken with gasps. “--damn miracle. My gorgeous wonder, Credence, my miracle.” The two pet names blurred and mixed in his head, colored with desperate need and pleasure and he found that finally he didn’t care about being anyone’s miracle as long as he was Percival’s gorgeous wonder.  
It would be over too soon. Credence could tell, pleasure building high and hot and he reached out, wrapping his hand around Percival’s erection because he refused to feel like this alone.  
“Shit, Credence…” Percival ground out and he suddenly moved faster, taking Credence deeper. Credence couldn’t breathe, hips pushing with the other man almost by instinct before Percival came with a hoarse groan, digging his nails into Credence’s back and slicking the younger man’s fingers with his cum. The older man’s body went rigid, locking around him and it was too much. It felt like he’d been struck by lightning and he stifled the scream against Percival’s chest as he followed him over the edge. 

They stayed like that for a long moment; Credence clung to Graves’ chest, both gasping for breath, sweating, before the older man slowly lowered them both down to the bed.

“I scratched you again, I think,” Graves said and kissed the corner of Credence’s mouth.

“Didn’t notice,” Credence said softly. Graves’ hair was down in his face and Credence brushed some of it away. “How are you feeling?” 

Graves couldn’t help the sheepish smile. “Fine. You were right.” He felt better for having said aloud what had been tormenting him, better for having been with Credence. “I barely knew Oakhurst. He’d been on my team for six months and half the time I thought he was too cocky for his own good.” 

“He was one of yours. I hear how you talk about them.” Credence pressed into him. Sweat was cooling on his skin, making him shiver. 

_”Incendio.”_ Graves gestured at the fireplace with his free hand and a fire roared to life, raising the temperature of the room quickly. “Better?” 

Credence nodded. His eyes were half-lidded and Graves glanced at the clock on the mantel. Two-thirty in the morning. “You should sleep,” he told Credence, kissing his forehead.

“Will you stay?” 

Graves had thought to go back as soon as Credence was asleep, but it seemed heartless now. “I’ll have to go back first thing in the morning,” he answered. “I’ll stay until then.” He paused. “It’ll be like this for awhile. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Would you rather stay with Newt and the Goldsteins? Queenie will have a normal schedule at least and Newt should be around.” He didn’t like the idea of Credence being trapped in his house for so long, and if the worst were to happen, Newt would be able to get him away quickly. 

Credence nodded. “If they don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure they won’t. But I’ll ask.” He shifted slightly to be more comfortable. “Sleep.” 

Credence slept and when he woke, he was clean, in pajamas and back on the worn couch in the Goldsteins’ apartment. Sunlight was streaming through the small windows; it must have been past nine o’clock. The only difference was that he was wrapped in the warm grey duvet-- and that Percival was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/ Always happy to chat!


	12. Borealis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After burying six Aurors, including Taylor Oakhurst, everyone could use a little Christmas.  
> (a.k.a. fluff once you get past the nightmare and the funeral)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: creepy dream body horror, implied dream drowning. 
> 
> This chapter is very long. Oh well. There wasn't a good place to split it up. Bear with any typos-- my vision is getting better but healing will be a long process!
> 
> Original spells:  
> Lumos Stellatus: based on JKR's lumos, with the adjective "stellatus" or "starry" added.  
> Ostendo: I reveal.

_Graves was hazy, warm, druggedly comfortable as he sat on the floor of his closet. He didn’t notice that his lips were so chapped that they had cracked and bled and that the skin was blackened and dead. He didn’t notice that his broken shin lay at an angle, slowly healing in a way that would never let him walk again. A man stood in the doorway wearing his face. He adjusted his cuffs with an expression of fastidious distaste. “Tell me about Credence. You’re not a fool; you would have tried to compensate for your idiocy. How do you assure him that you’re you?”_

_Even floating, docile, content, a thread of despair trickled in as Graves heard his own voice answer his doppelganger. ‘Gorgeous wonder. If I don’t call him that, he’ll know.”_

_His double tsked. “Sentimentality. Of all the weaknesses.” He swept the coat over his shoulders-- the long black one, finely trimmed with white silk, but it was suddenly dripping red with Oakhurst’s blood again. “I suppose I should thank you for winning him back to me.” The doppelganger flicked his wand and the blood pooled under the coat, slid towards Graves. “Breathe deeply now.”_

_There was no floating ease now, just horror and guilt and failure as Gellert Grindlewald left his house, wearing his face, with the key to Credence’s trust on his lips and the blood crawled up over Graves into his mouth and nose and he was choking, drowning--_

Graves jerked awake, gasping for air, covered in sweat. There was a small portable Pensieve on his desk; his wand lay on the floor where he had dropped it. He must have fallen asleep scanning through the memories of his imprisonment, ensuring that Grindelwald had never asked about the location of Gawain Chapel or displayed any interest in the Auror cemetery. 

Someone was rapping at the door. 

Graves wiped his brow. “Come in.” 

Sophie stepped through the door. “You look like hell.” Graves had shaved for the first time since the escape that morning and he was wearing clothes he hadn’t slept in, but nothing could quite take away the exhaustion and guilt. 

“You don’t look much better.” Her face was drawn. She had circles under her eyes and the normally neat blonde bun needed the attention of a charm comb. Her uniform was dusty from travel. She’d been in Boston that morning and Philadelphia the day before, running down any leads they could find on Grindelwald’s location. 

“We should leave for the Chapel soon. The funeral is at noon.” She tossed a sandwich on his desk. “Eat. Doesn’t matter if you’ve started asking the witch at the canteen to put extra salamander blood in your Invigorating Draught, it isn’t food.”

“Neither of us have time for a lunch break,” Graves answered, placing the Pensieve in a desk drawer, then tucking his wand back into his vest pocket. 

“Not a break; a briefing. You eat; I talk. You need to know something before we go.” Sophie took a seat across from his desk. 

“I need a briefing for a funeral?” Graves didn’t argue though; the sight of the sandwich was making him suddenly ravenous. He ate.

“Oakhurst. Your...replacement is classified, so his family doesn’t know. Which means…” She looked acutely uncomfortable. “You and Oakhurst were on a first name basis. He went by T.J. You lent him books. Everyone thought you were grooming him to lead a squad.” 

Graves nearly choked on the sandwich. The sensation reminded him unnervingly of his dream. “I what? He…what? Why did no one tell me this before now?”

Sophie spread her hands in half-apology. “Because he asked us not to. The rest of us were humiliated enough that we didn’t notice you were gone. The last thing Oakhurst wanted to admit was liking Grindelwald better.” 

Graves shook his head. He remembered Oakhurst’s brutalized body vividly. “Merlin, he did that to someone he _liked?”_

Sophie looked as momentarily nauseated as he felt. “I don’t know. But you needed to know and...well, there’s no point in keeping his secrets any more.” 

Graves shook his head, standing. “Thank you anyway.” It was disconcerting to have to play an impersonation of himself, but if Picquery and the Congress had classified what happened, then he would have to do it. He finished the sandwich. “Let’s go.” 

 

Gawain Chapel-- named for Arthur’s martial right hand rather than his magical left, Merlin-- was hidden in a deep ravine in the Appalachian mountains. The cemetery was Unplottable and dwarfed on either side by deeply forested mountain. Mist clung to the ground, swirled around the rows of headstones. They were uniform slate rectangles marking the rows; older towards the back, leading towards the larger, marble monument of the Twelve, and newer towards the front. There were six gleaming new slate headstones, six open graves. Six. Graves still had trouble reckoning with the number Had any Director since the founding of MACUSA lost so many? In a single day? 

The Aurors clustered around the graves were in a mix of mourning black or the dark brown leather of their uniforms. Graves and Sophie were the only Aurors from New York, though he noticed some faces from other departments where Oakhurst had worked. There were a larger scattering of faces from Boston. The second-in-command of the Boston Aurors stood off by herself; the tail end of a spellscar crossed her face. Graves could tell that her left eye had been lost as well, although the witch or wizard who had made the replacement was skilled. The only way ne knew was that the artificial left eye was glossy, clean and white where the right eye was swollen and red from tears. Graves remembered her name. She was Eveline Marisca and she was burying her husband, her director and three other coworkers as well. 

Graves slipped through the crowd over to the other woman. “Mrs. Marisca.”

She straightened and extended her hand to shake. “Director.” 

He took her hand in both of his. “I’m so terribly sorry. You’ve been asked to handle so much.” God, Oakhurst alone had nearly broken him, left him weeping at Credence’s feet like a child. He only knew the five Boston Aurors by acquaintance. He couldn’t imagine how Mrs. Marisca was feeling. 

She forced a smile. “It is what it is. We don’t get to make mistakes.”

“You should be on leave with your family,” Graves suggested gently. Hearing his own words from a woman who just lost her husband was horrifying. 

“We’re so understaffed. I couldn’t---”

“I’ll send one of my own Aurors up to shift some of the load. We can spare them. You worry about yourself now.” He withdrew one of his cards from his vest pocket, slid a thumb over the back with a whispered word to make his personal address appear and gave it to her. “Please. If there’s anything else I can do.” It felt hollow, not enough, nowhere near enough, when he knew that Mrs. Marisca’s clearance was high enough that she knew whose mistake it had been, whose face Grindelwald had been wearing. 

“Thank you,” she said, tucking the card away in her black clutch. “I just...he caught us all off guard. No one expected him to….” Her right eye started to well again.

“It’s not your fault,” he said quietly, gripping her hands again. “He got through our best and I am sure you did your damnedest to hold him. Don’t you apologize to me.” 

One of her coworkers intervened then, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Eveline. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He glanced up at Graves. “Excuse us, Director.”

“Of course.” Graves relinquished her hands, letting her be with people she knew and rejoined Sophie as the service began. They’d asked a senior Auror from Boston to speak, who been a mentor to many of the dead and Graves was quietly grateful he hadn’t been asked. 

After the graves were sealed shut and the magically etched portraits had begun to move, Graves found Oakhurst’s parents. They were standing by his grave; looking at the image of their son laughing and winking, the same braggadocio that had driven Graves mad still visible in the young man’s face. 

“Mr. Oakhurst. Mrs. Oakhurst. I’m so sorry about-- about T.J. He was a good Auror. He would have done well.” The lying made this more uncomfortable than it already was going to be. 

Mr. Oakhurst shook his hand. “T.J. always spoke highly of you. We appreciate you taking him under your wing like that.” 

“It was a pleasure. He was a bright young man.” He gave them his card, said the right things even as his skin prickled with the deception and eventually they departed. Sophie was still speaking to one of the Boston Aurors. Many of the rest were departing as well, so he slipped away, walking towards the back of the cemetery. The marble monument of the Twelve was nearly twice his height, but he stepped through the columns and arched colonnades without paying much attention to the cool, gold-veined marble. He walked until he reached the very back, where the twelve original tombstones laid. Third to the left was Gondulphus Graves. Even generations later, they still looked very much alike: dark hair and eyes, broad-shouldered and tall. His mother used to claim he had the Graves’ jawline, “stubborn enough you could break a tree on it,” but it was impossible to see if her assertion bore fruit. Gondulphus wore a thick black beard obscuring the bone structure. 

“Ever get this many people killed, old man?” he asked conversationally. It blinked and scowled in the same way it always did. The constant level of disapproval was almost reassuring. Gondulphus had scowled when he’d spoken of Cador’s death. He had scowled the last time Graves had come to bury an Auror. He scowled now too, exactly the same, when Graves came to bury six. 

“You should be nicer,” he said. “I may be a wreck, but I’ll be the last Graves for you to scowl at. You’ll get no sons from me.” He laughed without humor. “You should just be glad my replacement didn’t come here. Your stone might have cracked in shame to see us so undone.” 

He heard bootheels clicking on the marble and knew from the cadence it was Sophie. “Talking to stones again?” 

Graves gestured. “Reminding the first Graves that he should be more polite to the last Graves.” He put his hands in his coat pocket. “Six Aurors. I wonder how much he hates me for that.”

“We all signed up for it, Percival.” 

“That’s not comforting.” 

“Martyr,” she accused without malice. They stood in silence for a long moment before she spoke again. “If it helps, I would much rather die for a good reason than live to be the doddering spinster aunt looking after Steven’s umpteen children.” 

The comment was sharp, unexpected and Graves was surprised by the sound of his own laughter and the strange feeling of a smile on his lips. “You will be the only reason Steven’s children aren’t nattering fools,” he told her and for a single, brief moment, it felt like they were friends again. 

“The longer Grindelwald stays free, the more likely it is he’ll come for Credence,” Sophie said quietly, changing topics.

“I know. We’re running out of time. Newt says he’s nearly ready to try though.” 

Sophie was quiet again. “I shouldn’t be there,” she said. “Tell me when and I’ll try to keep MACUSA from noticing anything strange, but….if you need Credence as calm as possible, I might be a trigger. I don’t know if he saw me in the subway or even remembers who attacked him but…” 

Graves winced. “I’d rather not find out.” He sighed. “Let’s just get past Christmas and then we’ll try.” 

Sophie nodded. “I imagine you’re not going to your sister’s this year.”

“No. Can’t really.” Graves shrugged. “Trying not to make anyone else complicit in...this.” He gestured expansively. His attachment to Credence. The risks they were running. The actual treason of everything they were doing. 

She nodded. “I’m going out to Long Beach tomorrow morning.” They stood in silence again for a long moment. “I’m headed back,” she finally said. “Don’t stay here too long.” 

She was nearly out of the marble colonnade when Graves turned. He’d buried too much today already. “Sophie.” 

She stopped. 

“Merry Christmas.”

A smile flickered on her face. “Merry Christmas to you too, Percival,” she said and was gone. 

 

Graves didn’t stay much longer at Gawain Chapel, returning to the Woolworth Building inside of the hour. When he returned to the office though, he was surprised to see Tina and Queenie Goldstein arguing in frantic whispers outside of his door. 

“You ask him. You know him better! He’s your boss! And this was Newt’s idea!” 

But it’s your boyfriend that’s the problem! Honestly, you could just not bring him…” 

“I don’t want to stand Jacob up! Even if Credence did seem excited!” 

Graves coughed and the two women whirled around, bright pink spots appearing simultaneously on both of their cheeks. 

“Tina. Miss Goldstein. Can I help you?” Graves could feel a hint of amusement twitch at his mouth. 

“Just…”

“....discussing the varied implications of Rappaport’s Law,” Tina blurted, even as she shot a furious glance at her sister.

Jacob. Rappaport. Oh, _Merlin_. Graves exhaled heavily and pushed a hand through his hair. Of course. “I am going to pretend for a moment that I am an arrant fool. And that I did not read the report about a No-Maj who assisted in the arrest of Gellert Grindelwald and was Obliviated afterwards on President Picquery’s orders.” Neither one of them had actually outright admitted to anything and Graves wanted it kept that way. “Now what is it?” 

Both sisters looked mortified. “It was Newt’s idea. Neither of us celebrate Christmas, but he does. And he thought we should have a party. Just a little one.” Queenie began.

“I think he’s bought Credence something,” Tina followed up. She looked as worn and exhausted as the rest of the Aurors. “I think we might all benefit from a night off.”

Graves sighed. “And the problem here is that Queenie would like to bring her Squib friend whose last name I do not need to know, since I’m pretty sure it rhymes with perjury?” He had no ground to object to any unorthodox relationship, frankly, so right now his best option was aggressively not knowing.

“...yes,” Queenie answered tentatively.

Graves was tempted to say no, to avoid the entire affair and the complications it would likely engender. But Queenie had said that Credence was excited. Newt had apparently already bought a gift. He couldn’t deny Credence an evening of fun, not when the procedure to remove the obscurus would likely be frightening, uncomfortable. “Fine. Come by at six on Christmas Eve. I have more space. I’ll drop the wards for a bit so you can apparate in.” 

“Thank you,” Tina said, having regained her composure somewhat. 

Graves started to go into his office then realized what he’d just signed up for. He wheeled. “On one condition.” 

“....yes?” Tina started to quail again slightly.

“I am not cooking Christmas dinner. No one wants me cooking Christmas dinner,” he said.

“I’ll take care of it, Director,” Queenie volunteered even as Tina made a masterful attempt to stifle her giggles. 

“Good. Give me a list of what you need and I’ll have it at the house.” He went into his office and was struck with the thought that he had nothing for Credence. He’d never even thought about it, consumed with tracking down endless false leads on Grindelwald’s increasingly cold trail. He’d seen to his family already--- perfume that Elaine liked, a biography that Matthew had mentioned, a scarf and hat in Thunderbird colors for Izzy-- but Credence was so new, the relationship so unusual, he’d not even thought about it. He sat down at his desk and noticed that he’d not totally shut the desk drawer. The small Pensieve laid inside it. He didn’t like using it to scan his memories. Before he was hiding Credence, he would ask an Auror he trusted to use a Clarifying Charm to help draw out his memories, but that wasn’t really possible now. Maybe that was an option. 

 

Graves left work a few hours early on Christmas Eve to purchase the ingredients on Queenie’s list (and the very last tree from a sour-faced goblin whose extortionist prices Graves was too weary to argue with). He showered and shaved again, then paused at his dresser and picked up his cologne. Credence had liked it and he wanted the younger man to enjoy tonight. 

It wasn’t until he’d collected Credence from the Goldsteins and returned home that he had another thought. 

“Credence.” 

“Yes?” Credence glanced over at him, from where he was examining the tree. They’d never had a Christmas tree; Ma had seen it as a pagan ritual, meant to seduce good children away from the light. 

“Do you want to go to church?” Credence was more religious than Graves was by far and church seemed like a thing one would do on Christmas Eve. “I’m sure there’s one nearby.” They seemed to be everywhere, after all. 

Credence turned to face him. Percival had never struck him as a religious man and the quizzical, almost confused tone in his voice ask he asked about church only reinforced that impression. “Do you want to go?” he asked, turning the question around.

Graves shook his head. “...my family has had very little to do with Christianity since the burnings,” he admitted. “For a long time, we saw it as the thing the Scourers--- witches and wizards who turned on and hunted their own kind-- used to justify killing us.” That Credence’s adoptive mother’s ancestors had used to justify killing his. He wasn’t oblivious to what the last name Barebone meant. “My mother loved Christmas though. It was her favorite holiday and that was apparently a condition of her marrying into the Graves family. Elaine, Cador and I were the first generation to celebrate it.” 

That the Graves weren’t Christian but celebrated Christmas was a strange idea to him, but his Ma had railed against the perversion of the holiday long enough that he guessed that was what she meant. “So...what do you believe, then? If you’re not Christian.” A brief tension swirled in his stomach as he asked. 

Graves gave a half-smile as he sat down on the couch. “It’s nearly impossible to be a wizard and an atheist, if that’s what you’re biting your lip about. I have met ghosts. The Fidelis Charm is predicated upon the existence of a soul.” It wasn’t actually the question that Credence had asked though. “I believe the world is too beautiful and magic is too wondrous to have come into existence by accident, though I’ve seen things that any merciful god should have thrown down lightning to stop. I believe I have a duty to others greater than myself. I don’t know what an afterlife looks like, but I hope that the good that I’ve done is worth the pieces of my soul I’ve sold to do it.”

Percival looked haunted for a moment and Credence almost regretted asking, coming to join him on the couch. “I don’t need to go to church,” he said quietly, touching his cheek. “But you, Percival Graves, are on the side of the angels.”

Credence’s faith in him was astonishing as always and Graves pulled him close for a moment, kissing his temple. “Thank you. Now help me get things in order before everyone else arrives.”

There wasn’t much; Graves didn’t own decorations. There’d never been much point since he always went to his sister’s. He trailed his wand along the railing of the stairs. _”Orchideous”_. Pine garland, richly fragrant, flowed from his wand, wrapping around the banister and small brown pinecones grew intermittently from it. A flick of his wand at the mantle coated it in holly; dark green leaves and red berries faintly reflecting the fire burning below. Another flick of his wand wrapped a red velvet tree skirt around the base of the tree. 

Credence had been gathering champagne coupes from the kitchen and nearly dropped them when he came back into the living room. “Percival. How….magic.” He answered his own question even as he set the glasses down on the coffee table. “It’s beautiful.” 

“I want you to enjoy tonight. It’s for you,” Graves said, holding out a hand for him. Credence gave it and Graves pulled him close, wrapping an arm around him. 

“You didn’t have to,” Credence protested. 

“I wanted to,” Graves shushed him. “I like making you happy.” 

Credence’s eyes burned suddenly again. It was too much: the casual way Percival talked about wanting to make him happy, the extravagance of it. He buried his face against his chest. “You can’t be real.”

“I am,” Percival said softly. He tilted his chin up. “Credence, I came to you four days ago reeking of blood and death and terror and you insisted on helping me even when I didn’t want you to. When I could have just drank myself like I’ve done every other time I lost an Auror. You made me talk and you listened when I broke and you put me back together again. That’s not a small thing and I didn’t make it easy. So yes, this is for you. And I wish I could give you more.” 

Credence held onto him tightly and Percival gestured to the as-yet undecorated tree with his wand. “Pick a color,” he said.

“Gold.” 

“ _Lumos Stellatus,_ ” Percival said and a shining array of golden light burst from his wand, draping the tree in thousands of tiny sparkling stars. They bobbed and flickered like candles, like actual stars and Credence found himself looking up at Percival with awe and affection and something he was beginning to think was love. He might have said it too, caught up in the magic of Percival’s spells and the magic of that moment, that evening, the beautiful house lit and shining in the darkness but reality suddenly swirled behind them. Tina, Queenie, Newt and a burly dark-haired man that Credence didn’t recognize spun into focus. 

A carefully wrapped box with a large red bow on top entirely obscured Newt’s upper body. There were air holes cut into it and whatever was inside seemed to be moving. Both Tina and Queenie wore knee-length dresses that sparkled in the firelight; Tina’s was blue and Queenie’s silver. Queenie also had a silver clutch in one hand and a much smaller, neatly wrapped gift in the other. Credence broke away from Percival and hugged her tightly. “I’m glad you could come,” he said. “You weren’t sure.”

“Aw honey.” Queenie hugged him back. “Wouldn’t have missed for the world. Merry Christmas!” 

Graves was momentarily distracted from the ominously moving box and the No-Maj in his house by Credence _hugging_ Queenie. Credence didn’t touch people besides Graves himself. The younger man allowed himself to be touched-- he’d seen both Tina and Newt do it in days past, but Credence never initiated the contact. But he was hugging Queenie Goldstein and smiling and Graves increased the size of the apology that he owed to the Legilimens substantially. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said, joining Credence with the others. He shook hands with Newt, who was still precariously balancing that box in one arm and then with Tina and Queenie before extending it to the No-Maj. “You must be Jacob. Please don’t tell me your last name. I’d like to be able to technically say I don’t know who you are under oath. I’m Percival Graves.”

“Queenie...isn’t he…” 

“No, you goober. That’s the real Director Graves. Now go on.” 

They shook hands and Graves turned back to the coffee table. He waved his wand and the bottle of champagne--- as well as the bottle of Pinnock’s Gigglewater that Queenie had put on the list-- uncorked themselves and poured servings in mid-air. “Large coupes are champagne; smaller ones are gigglewater.” 

Newt reached for one of the smaller glasses, handing it to Tina. The box rattled again as he did and the magizoologist nearly lost his grip. Graves arched an eyebrow. “Oh, _that’s_ going to be trouble,” he commented. “Do I want to know?” 

“It’s for Credence and it’s probably best he opens it now. She’s getting a bit rambunctious.” 

“She,’ Graves echoed dubiously. He caught a coupe of champagne out of the air and sat down in one of the armchairs. 

Newt set the box down on the floor and stepped back, taking a coupe of champagne for himself. “Go on, Credence. It’s nothing dangerous.” 

“Still sounds like trouble,” Graves commented, but he couldn’t help but soften at the delight on Credence’s face at the idea of getting a gift. The younger man went to his knees in front of the box, untying the large red bow almost reverently. No sooner had he opened the lid than an enormous ball of steel-blue fluff leapt out of the box and onto Credence’s chest, knocking the younger man onto his back. The creature was enormous; it must have been twenty-five pounds or more, but Graves couldn’t see any visible paws or even eyes.

He leaned his forehead on one hand. “Newt. What is that?”

Newt glanced at him. “It’s a Borealis puffskein. They’re bred for their size and intelligence, as well as their iridescent fur. You can’t quite see it with this light but…” Newt raised his wand. “ _Nox_.” The lights went out and Graves could see that the puffskein’s fur was not just steel-blue, but shimmered green and gold and red in the darkness. 

“ _Lumos_.” Newt restored the lights. 

“So trouble.” Not that an non-enforceable violation of the Ban on Magical Beasts was the worst offense that was happening in his house right now by far, but… “Where did you say the breeder was from?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Newt answered primly, taking a sip of his champagne. He turned his attention back to the puffskein, talking to Credence. “She’s quite intelligent; she’ll come when called and go where you point. I thought it might be useful if you need pressure or warmth.”

Graves’ protest died in his throat as he realized why Newt chose this particular puffskein as well as by the sudden peals of laughter from the base of the tree. Credence was laughing in sheer sustained delight like Graves had never heard before. He was still lying on his back with the puffskein on his chest, but the creature was snuffling his face, long pink tongue trying to get at his nose. 

Graves couldn’t keep back the smile. “Thank you, Newt,” he said quietly. “Guess we’re keeping her.”

“I’m glad. Especially since you named her already,” Credence said in between laughing, trying to keep the creature’s tongue out of this nose.

“Oh?”

An absolutely wicked grin broke across Credence’s face. “Her name is Trouble,” he said and pointed at Graves. “Up, girl!”

In three bounds, the Puffskein obediently landed in the older man’s lap, nearly knocking the wind out of him and Credence’s burst of laughter took the edge off of any exasperation. Graves shook his head with a fond smile as he took a sip of his champagne. Credence might very well be a tease more than just in bed, an idea that filled Graves with a mix of desire and something he couldn’t deny was love any longer. Seeing Credence’s personality unveil itself was a marvel-- kind and resilient, stubborn but empathetic, with a touch of wickedness that turned Graves on more than he wanted to admit. He watched the young man talk to Newt and introduce himself to Jacob more formally and sobered slightly. They had so little time, so little chance of a future. If Newt’s attempt to remove the obscurus failed...

The merriment was too much for a moment and he gingerly lifted Trouble off his his lap. “Sorry, girl,” he apologized as she squeaked indignantly. “Taking some gigglewater to Queenie,” he explained when Credence glanced his way. 

He took the last of the small coupes out of mid-air and went into the kitchen where Queenie was starting to put together the meal. 

“Can I get you anything, Director? I was going to save the eggnog for after dinner, but I can chill it up now if you want some.” Queenie was impossibly warm, even after Graves had snapped at her.

“I’m fine. Thank you. Gigglewater?” He offered her the glass. “Given that you underlined it three times on your list.”

“I only like Pinnock’s. The other stuff ain’t as fizzy. Do you have a roasting pan, Director?” She was letting him to come it in his own time; he hadn’t bother to hide that he wanted to talk to her when he entered the kitchen and he’d felt the effervescent brush of her mind. 

“In the drawer under the oven.” Graves beckoned it out with his wand. “I owe you an apology. And my thanks. You’re a good friend to Credence. He needs friends. And I was short with you when I shouldn’t have been.” He paused, then added with a wince. “And you were right. It helped to talk.” 

“It’s alright. No one’s their best when they’re hurting.” The few lamb chops that Graves had bought spun themselves into the air, multiplying until they formed a crowned rack of lamb. The meat hovered as sea salt, cracked black pepper, minced garlic, rosemary and thyme embedded themselves into the surface, forming a thick herb crust. The rack of lamb finally floated down down into the roasting pan, where potatoes, carrots and onions were frantically peeling and dicing themselves to form a vegetable bed. “Credence is sweet. You picked a good one.”

“Did I?” He hadn’t expected the anxiety to surface in his voice and he drained the rest of the champagne to steady himself. “...we’re doomed, Queenie. As doomed as you and Jacob are. Both of us could be found out any day. You broke a direct order from Picquery. I….” He gestured helplessly out in the living room. Jacob seemed to be teaching the others some No-Maj card game and Credence was listening intently, one hand on Trouble’s fur. 

“How many Aurors did you bury this week, Director?” The question startled Graves.

“Six. Why?” 

“So would it have been any different if you had taken up with Taylor Oakhurst or one of them Aurors from Boston? Or even a fella not from MACUSA? You nearly ended up at Gawain Chapel too.”

“So you’re telling me that any relationship I have is marked for death or discovery,” Graves muttered. He was beginning to think that brandy would have been a better choice than champagne.

“What I mean is, it’s going to hurt. Jacob and I...it’s going to hurt.” Queenie said. “There ain’t no way around that, Director. Will it hurt less if you spend Christmas hiding in the kitchen, worrying about what’s coming?”

“No,” Graves admitted. 

“You got a gift, in a way. Both of us do. We both know it ain’t gonna last. So we know we ain’t got time to waste feeling sorry. Now it’s Christmas and you asked me to cook. Go spend time with your squeeze.” Queenie gave him a slight push. “And smile. He thinks it’s handsome.” 

Graves smiled, arching an eyebrow. “Does he.” He started to leave, then turned. “Queenie. If it happens. If you get caught. Find a way to let me know. Insist that you won’t talk to any MACUSA official but me. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” 

Queenie nodded and for a moment he could see the glitter of the same anxiety that he felt in her eyes. “I will. Thank you, Director.”

“Percival.” 

“Alright. Percival. Now go on.” 

Graves went and joined them. Tina had just convinced Credence to try a glass of gigglewater and the younger man clapped a hand over his mouth, startled at the sudden enchanted laughter. 

“Hey, take it easy on him,” Graves told Tina as he poured himself another glass of champagne. “He’s too big to carry upstairs.” 

Credence blushed and the others laughed as Graves joined them on the floor. “Can you deal me in?” he asked. A magizoologist, the younger brother of a man whose heart he’d broken, a co-worker, her Legilimens sister and a No-Maj; all of them in his house, laughing and smiling and no one blinking an eye that he had an arm around another man who was sixteen years his junior. An obscurial wanted by MACUSA. It felt good; it felt safe; it felt warm. It wasn’t a future he could have, but at least for the moment, he could pretend. 

They played three rounds of the No-Maj card game before Queenie finished with dinner. Credence had lost badly, both distracted and delighted by Trouble and Newt had no poker face. The two had folded early in the second round and were discussing puffskein care quietly on the couch. It left Graves, Tina and Jacob.

“Legilimency is cheating, Percival,” Tina warned as she drew two more cards. 

Graves arched an eyebrow. “Relax. I haven’t used that to cheat at cards since I got Theseus and I chased out of a Monte Carlo casino.” 

“Oh I have not heard this story,” Newt said. “Also, I’m about to finish the champagne. Do we have another bottle or should I Multiply what’s left?” 

“There’s another bottle. And Theseus probably doesn’t tell this story because it involves us hiding under cafe tables until the casino’s security stopped looking for us.” Graves shook his head as Newt opened the second bottle. “He was so mad at me. I was betting with his salary too when we got chased out, since they hadn’t figured out what they were paying the crazy Yankee volunteer.” 

“You volunteered?” Jacob asked, looking Graves over with a certain respect. 

“I was an angry hothead and my little brother was on the Lusitania. I went over in ‘15, threw in with the Brits.” Graves summarized briefly. He flipped his cards over. “I got two pair, tens high.” 

“Same but sevens,” Jacob admitted, throwing his cards into the center.

Tina couldn’t keep back the smirk. “Three of a kind.” 

“Stop gambling and come eat!” Queenie called.

Trouble trotted after Credence as he went into the kitchen. Percival had no formal dining room, but Queenie had still worked miracles with the kitchen table. Christmas roses clustered around pewter candlesticks in the center of the table. She’d found the crystal glasses that Graves never used and they sparkled on top of a red and gold conjured table cloth. Each of the crystal goblets filled themselves with an aromatic red wine as the crown of lamb settled on the table. Credence wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen so much food for so small a group. 

“I will still never get used to that,” Jacob commented with awe.

“Neither will I,” Credence admitted quietly, taking a seat between Queenie and Percival. 

Percival touched Credence’s hand under the table as he spoke to Jacob. “Not all of us cook like that, you know. You found a good one.” 

Queenie blushed with pleasure at the praise. “Well, Jacob brought a Yule log for dessert so save room. I’m not the only one who can cook.” The couple grinned at each other before Queenie waved her wand and the crown of lamb broke apart into individual chops, floating to each plate, followed by a serving of the vegetables. 

Credence reminded himself that there was dessert. The champagne made it harder to tell if he was getting full and Queenie’s food was as good as always. It was strange to have his stomach hurt because he had eaten too much rather than too little. He was glad he had waited though--- Jacob’s Yule log was rolled vanilla cake soaked in brandy and filled with hazelnut cream. Vanilla buttercream covered the outside, streaked with cocoa powder until it looked exactly like a birch log. A red and gold marzipan dragon lay slumbering on top of it. 

“...you did that without magic.” Graves stared. How was that even possible?

“Takes a lot longer that way; I’ll tell you that,” Jacob answered but he was beaming with pride. 

“That’s not any sort of dragon breed I’ve ever encountered before,” Newt commented and Tina kicked him under the table. “Ow! It’s still very beautiful, Jacob.”

Jacob laughed. “Shoulda known you’d be up on your dragon varieties.”

Credence had two slices of the cake and Graves quietly noted that the young man had a sweet tooth. Graves personally didn’t; preferring to end a meal with coffee or brandy, but the idea of spoiling Credence was a pleasure in and of itself. Once they had finished, Graves charmed the dishes to do themselves, finishing a glass of Queenie’s conjured red wine as he did. It was good for a conjured wine-- aromatic with spices, dark fruit and leather-- and he was buzzed as he joins the others in the living room. He let himself be tempted by the punch bowl of Queenie’s eggnog on the coffee table anyway as he joined Queenie and Credence on the couch. It was rich and creamy and harshened just enough with brandy. Credence was opening her gift-- a charm comb of his own in sandalwood and tortoiseshell. “I’ve switched it on and it should keep your hair the way it is,” she told him. “You’ll need magic to change it though. I can do that for you until you learn or Percival can.”

“Thank you.” Credence hugged her again tightly, then swiveled slightly to show it to Graves.

“It’s fine craftsmanship,” Graves said. “I think I know the charm to change the style.”

“Do you not use one?” Queenie asked. “It could...deal with the grey, if you wanted.”

Graves touched Credence’s thigh. “Someone has already informed me that I have crow’s feet. I’m accepting my old age.”

“Credence, you didn’t!” Queenie feigned shock.

Credence blushed even through the pink the wine had left on his cheeks. “I didn’t say it like that!” he protested. “I said he gets them when he smiles!”

“Yes, I’ve been told you like my smiles,” Graves said, hand still resting easily on Credence’s leg. He was flirting, flushed with wine and he didn’t care. He’d not felt this happy, this sure in months. Years. 

Credence looked scandalized and Graves took pity on him, pulling him close and kissing his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m teasing. Payback for siccing Trouble on me.” 

“You laughed,” Credence teased back, a little hesitantly, glancing up at Graves to seek his approval. Queenie slipped away, apparently having noticed that Graves owned a gramophone on a small table near the fireplace.

“I did. I like it when you tease,” Graves said. 

Credence blushed scarlet for a moment and seemed to be gathering his courage for a moment before he leaned very close to Graves. “I know that already, Percival,” he said against his ear. His tongue touched Graves’ earlobe and the older man suddenly considered kicking everyone out of his house and taking Credence upstairs. 

The sound of big band swing interrupted his ruminations and he saw Tina coercing a reluctant Newt to his feet. “Tina, I’ve got two left feet!” Queenie and Jacob were already moving. 

“Queenie taught me to jitterbug,” Credence said softly. He didn’t ask the question but Graves knew what it was. 

“I haven’t danced in _years_ ,” he warned as he stood. Unless you counted Izzy, who mostly just wanted Uncle Perce to spin her until she couldn’t see straight, or Sophie when Oakhurst had Imperiused him. Graves didn’t count either of those. “Did she teach you to lead or follow?” 

“Both.”

“Flexibility is alway a plus,” Graves told him with a wink for the sheer pleasure of watching him blush. He took his hand and pulled him out to a clear space. The tempo of the song was leisurely for swing music and Graves was grateful. “I’ll lead for the moment; let’s see how my shin stands up.” 

Queenie had taught him good frame; Credence’s shoulders were rolled down and stiff enough that Graves could move the younger man’s entire body with a hand. He led him through the basic steps for a few moments, then murmured in his ear again. “Do you want to try something new?” 

Credence blushed at the words. “Always with you.” 

“Go where I move you and trust me. Drop my left hand.” Graves spun Credence out away from him, until they were joined only by the tips of their fingers. He tugged, spinning Credence back until the younger man was close against him, wrapped up in both of his arms. He kept him there for a moment before letting him go with one hand, returning them both to an open position. Credence’s laughter made Graves rack his mind for what else he remembered. He managed another, easy spin, though he failed to compensate for Credence’s height and nearly clipped the younger man’s head. His rock step felt unsteady, but he was dancing with a smiling, laughing Credence and nothing could be better.

They were nearing the end of the song. “One last trick,’ Graves promised with a grin and he spun Credence out again before whirling him in, but instead of stopping the momentum, he moved with it, wrapping Credence up in his arms and lowering him into a dip, bracing the younger man across his braced right leg. His shin wobbled under both their weight but held. 

“I thought you hadn’t danced in years,” Credence said, blushing and dizzy from the spins.

Graves grinned and stole the quickest of kisses before bringing Credence upright. “I haven’t. Look at Queenie and Jacob,” he said.

The witch and the No-Maj both clearly knew and enjoyed dancing, constantly moving and twirling, pulling apart and coming together seamlessly. Graves served both himself and Credence a glass of eggnog and wondered in passing if Queenie was such a good follow because she could literally read her lead’s mind and not just his body. 

“Oh.” Credence shook his head and took the offered eggnog “I’d get dizzy.”

“I only remember a few tricks. I used to dance a lot. Elaine made me practice with her and I used to go out with some of the Aurors before I became a squad leader.” He glanced at Credence. “Do you like it? Dancing?” 

Credence shrugged. “I like dancing with you. And Queenie. I don’t think i’d like dancing with anyone else.” 

“Fair enough.” The song had ended and both Queenie and Jacob were a little out of breath. She waved her wand to change the record and something slower came on. Graves set down his eggnog. “She teach you how to waltz?”

Credence glanced at Queenie and Jacob, Newt and Tina. They were close, pressed against each other. Tina was talking quietly in Newt’s ear and he had his eyes closed, listening intently. “No.” He glanced at Percival. “Please?” He didn’t understand why he was still hesitant. All he ever had to do was tell Percival he wanted something, anything and Percival gave it to him instantly, willingly, with pleasure in many instances. 

The answer was predictable. “Of course,” Percival said and took Credence’s hand. The older man pulled him out into the open space by the hearth again. “Close up against me. Put your left hand on my upper arm and give me your right.” The song was slow and nearly ethereal, with instruments and words that Credence didn’t recognize. Graves’ hand settled on his lower back and he could smell the woodsmoke and spice of his cologne again, the faint hint of red wine on his breadth. 

Percival’s voice was close against his ear as he talked him through the steps. “Step back on your right foot--- all the way-- it’s not a rock step.” The waltz was smoother, flowing and Credence found himself relaxing into it, listening to Percival’s voice and letting the older man move him. “Side step with your left, then close your feet. Forward with your left, side with your right. Close again. There you go. That’s it.”

He leaned his head against Percival’s chest and the scent of his cologne was slightly stronger. He didn’t understand why Percival called him the miracle, the wonder. He was full and tipsy in a house that shone with light on Christmas Eve, with friends. Friends who had brought him presents even though he had nothing to give them in return, who didn’t care that he was standing, swaying, moving in another man’s arms, another man’s lips on his ears. Percival’s arms, Percival’s lips. Percival’s handsome face and quicksilver smile, his kindness and strength and unyielding determination. He lifted his head and kissed the other man, not knowing any other way to express what he felt and his eyes blurred with tears. 

Percival kept them moving as the song slowly faded out, only breaking the kiss when the last note faded. He leaned their foreheads together. “Merry Christmas, my gorgeous wonder,” he said softly.

Credence blinked back tears. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

About an hour later, the party had wound down and the other two couples had left. Credence had fallen asleep on the couch, curled around a humming Trouble. Graves sat by his head, a hand in his hair as he cleaned up the house with magic. He gently shook Credence. “C’mon. You don’t want to sleep down here.” Honestly, he didn’t want Credence to sleep down here either. He’d left him at the Goldstein’s apartment for the past three days-- not wanting him alone in the house for so long, when Graves was routinely returning at midnight or later, but he’d always gone to him and brought him home as soon as he was free from MACUSA. Credence sleeping next to him helped; when he jerked away from a nightmare, sleep paralysis making it impossible to move for an agonizing moment, the strangeness of another person’s breathing next to him let him know he wasn’t still trapped and cursed in the darkness.

Credence stirred and sat up with a soft whimper of protest. “Everyone left?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. 

“Yeah. It’s almost midnight. C’mon. I have one more present for you.” 

“But you already gave me the coat.” Credence followed him upstairs and Trouble went after them up with a soft thumping noise. She lit the stairs faintly, iridescent fur now clearly showing why she was a Borealis puffskein. 

“It’s alright. I’m not even sure this will work,” Graves said as they both started to change for bed. He kept his wand with him. 

“That what will work?” Credence asked. 

“Do you remember your mother? Not Mary Lou. Your real mother.” 

Credence shook his head. 

“Aurors have a technique for helping people remember things. Sometimes we interview people who have seen a crime and been Obliviated. Or they only saw something briefly or they’re shaken up. I want to try it with you.”

Credence nodded. “Alright,” he said softly. 

Graves rested one hand on Credence’s right temple and his wand on the other. “You might feel me in your mind a little. I’m nowhere near as good as Queenie; this is about all I can do.” It required just a touch of Legilimency; unlike their executioners, they weren’t searching someone’s mind for a memory themselves so much as clarifying and amplifying the other’s own recall. 

He cast the spell, wand tracing a small, precise half-circle on Credence’s temple. _“Ostendo._ Try and remember now.” 

Credence obliged. There was a lingering heat in his mind-- a clarifying warmth that he knew was Percival. The younger man couldn’t remember; he was about to admit his failure when--

_A tall woman with black hair in a long braid and bright blue eyes. He’s tired. Had he just woken? She must be standing in the doorway of an apartment and he’s cradled against her chest._

_“Do you need anything, Miranda?”_

_“We’re fine. Thank you for asking though.”_

_The woman-- his mother? His mother-- steps back from the door and closes it. “And I’ve woken you. Shush, sweetie. Go back to sleep.”_

_He is being moved; rocked. He is warm. His mother is singing. “Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring…” He must have slept._

The memory fades; the spell fades and he realizes his eyes are damp with tears. 

Graves’ smile was sad. He’d seen it too. He’d hoped for more, but what Credence could recall made it nearly impossible to do any investigating. That hadn’t been a wizarding lullaby, and there was no way to find a black-haired No-Maj woman, even with a first name. If she had been a witch, he might have tried, might have abused his authority and told Ilvermorny he wanted the records of every witch by that name, who attended at the right time to have a child Credence’s age. There was only one thing he could add. “Credence, do you know what the name Miranda means?” 

Credence shook his head. 

“It’s from Latin. It means marvelous.” Graves wiped one of the tears away with his thumb. “It means a miracle. A wonder.” 

Credence leaned his head against Percival’s and couldn’t hold back the tears. Trouble leapt onto the bed, settling at his feet. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

Graves kissed the top of his head. “Always,” he promised.

Credence smiled through the tears. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/ Always happy to talk!


	13. Scorpion on Your Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Removing the obscurus doesn't go as planned and it puts everyone at risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can see the screen!
> 
> Spells:  
> Fulmen: Lightning
> 
> CN: brief reference to/description of asphyxiation and burns

A week had passed. It was 1927. Graves knew they needed to try to remove the obscurus, but something in him kept resisting. The pace of work had finally slowed; the Aurors had exhausted all their leads and while part of him was livid and frustrated at the failure, his treacherous heart was perversely relieved. For three days in a row, he had been able to leave at a normal hour. For three days in a row, Credence had been waiting when he came home. They had cooked together and played chess; Credence had even persuaded Graves (it hadn’t been hard) to teach him how to waltz properly. It was as easy and ascomfortable as it had ever been, as it had been from the beginning, but now Credence came upstairs with him and slept in his arms instead of on a transfigured couch. 

Graves had even, begrudgingly, started to like Trouble. Credence’s obvious adoration of the enormous Borealis puffskein had helped. She was invariably in the younger man’s lap when he came home, humming contentedly. She sometimes climbed into Graves’ lap as well while he was trying to read the _Ghost_. Once-- just once-- she had stuck her long pink tongue into his brandy before squeaking and sneezing in dismay at the burn. 

The sticking point had been her sleeping on the bed. The first night Graves had brought both her and Credence home, she had jumped up on the bed and settled in at the base, leaning against Credence’s feet and glowing blue-green-red-gold in the darkness. 

“Oh. Oh no. Off.” Graves had shooed her and pushed her with a pillow until she squeaked indignantly and jumped down. 

“I don’t mind,” Credence had protested sleepily against Graves’ side. 

“I _do_.”

Twenty minutes later, Credence was asleep and Graves was nearing it when a soft thump on the base of the bed made him grab reflexively for his wand before he recognized the fluffy iridescent ball. _”Merlin.”_ He shoved a foot under the Puffskein, pushing her with his toes until she moved again. 

The respite this time was only ten minutes. So was the next one. The third time, Credence whined tiredly against Graves’ side. “Percival…” 

Graves sighed. “Fine.” He pointed at the Puffskein. “You stay down there. You jump on me or try and put your tongue up my nose and so help me, I will hex you into next week.” His voice was baritone, edged with menace. Dark wizards had quailed in interrogation at less.

Trouble squeaked with outrageous indifference and fell asleep. 

The first time that Graves jerked awake, choking on his own breath, he reconciled himself to her presence. There was something warm against his feet, a soft shifting light in the darkness. It was so distinctly not his prison that he was able to fall back asleep. 

Graves fried an extra egg just for her the next morning. 

It had been as close to perfect as Percival Graves was ever likely to get in his life and if they tried and failed, it would end. He had come up with half-rational excuses; they’d have more luck and more time if they waited for the additional Auror security to die down. Then it had been New Year’s-- there were No-Majs everywhere celebrating, even in the Meadowlands drinking bootlegged gin around bonfires. They couldn’t risk doing it then; too much risk of being seen and of incurring collateral damage. 

He was out of excuses, so when Tina brought it up again to him quietly in a MACUSA hallway, he’d sighed. “You’re right. Tonight. No more waiting.” 

They’d waited until well past nightfall, ensuring that as few people as possible would be in the Meadowlands and that if Credence couldn’t keep the obscurus from manifesting, it would be less visible, black against the black sky.

“This will be complicated,” Newt said softly. “As far as I can tell, it has a fairly direct connection to his autonomic nervous system.”

“What?” Credence asked.

“Fight, flight, freeze,” Newt clarified. “It comes out when you’re threatened or emotional enough that that same response is triggered. However, the autonomic nervous system is also responsible for a few other things.” 

“...like breathing,” Graves said. He didn’t like this. 

Newt winced, not looking at anyone in a way that Graves could tell had nothing to do with his usual discomfort. “Like breathing. And sensing pain.” He scuffed his foot in the ground. “That’s what happened in Sudan. It destroyed her, fighting me.” 

Credence slid his hand into Percival’s. His fingers were cold even through his gloves. That sounded like a terrible way to die. “...do I have to be awake for this?” 

Newt nodded. “I’m sorry. If you’re awake, you’ll be able to exert some control. Soldiers push past that instinct all the time-- march into gunfire, hold a line.You’ll be able to keep it from manifesting immediately.” He glanced at Credence. “I need you to hold it back as long as you can, but it will likely still manifest.” 

“And then a barrier for the rest of the time,” Graves filled in the gaps. His voice was terse. “We’re not doing this.”

“Percival,” Newt starts to protest but Graves was adamant. 

“Find another way. A safer one. You say soldiers walk into gunfire. Yes. They do. And it costs them a part of their soul. Find a way that isn’t bear it until it breaks him.” 

“I want to,” Credence said quietly. 

Graves blinked. “What? Credence?”

“I want to. There isn’t any other way, is there?” He looked to Newt, who nodded solemnly. “I know what you did the last time this happened. You nearly got caught. I nearly killed you. I asked Tina what spell it was you had cast and she told me it was blood magic, that it could have killed you. I want to do this.” 

Graves gritted his teeth against the protest. It wasn’t his decision, as much as he wanted it to be, as much as he wanted to dig in his heels, insist they weren’t doing this if there was any, any danger to Credence. 

Newt handed Credence two potions. “Drink both of these. One will dull the pain; one will help keep you calm.” Credence complied. Graves hated it even as they moved to cast the barrier spell, pacing off until they were facing each other, each equidistant from Credence.

 _”Protego maxima. Fianto duri,_ ” he said, hearing Tina echo him so that the two spells overlapped. Graves twisted his wand slightly, making the barrier as translucent as possible--- a glimmering white or gold barrier would undo the entire point of doing this at night. 

It didn’t start badly. Credence’s skin itched as Newt started to work his magic. It was tolerable, but uncomfortable and he wrapped his arms around himself. He wasn’t as nervous as he had been; the potion was working and he knew Percival was there, even though he couldn't see much more than the older man's silhouette through the barrier. Then the thing lurched inside him and Credence gasped at the sudden wash of cold. The itching was unbearably distracting but he pushed it away, trying to breathe. He pressed against his own arms, as if that pressure would be as reassuring as Percival or Trouble, Newt or Queenie. He’d not ever felt the obscurus' presence like this before. It was restless and wary, a cold and alien instinct that Credence couldn’t recognize as being part of him. 

“Here we go,” Newt said and then he was saying words, foreign and powerful, words that Credence didn’t recognize. The obscurus inside him obviously did-- or at least its effects-- and it wanted out. A bolt of pain like lightning lanced up his spine and into his head, making it throb with agony. 

Credence fell to his knees and he could see his vibrating hands. He closed his eyes against the pain, panting and gasping. _No. Not again. Not any more._ It clawed and lurched and fought like a caged animal. There was a howl-- low and distorted-- was that him? The obscurus inside him? The pain had radiated from his skull to every part of him. It felt like he was on fire, burning to death and the world was vibrating apart. _No!_

The choked desperate sounds that were coming from Credence’s body didn’t even sound human. The younger man let out a low, rumbling alien howl and then screamed in his own voice, defiant and agonized. 

“It's killing him.” The barrier faltered, nearly fell and Graves knew he was failing to maintain it. His hands were shaking; his breath coming fast. God, he knew that scream. That was the scream of a soldier, howling defiance at the incoming mortar shell, at the knowledge of his own useless death. 

“It’s working; it’s so close…” Newt answered him distractedly between spells. The magizoologist’s face shone with sweat and strain. 

“Newt, he can’t breathe!” The scream had cut off as Credence arched, spine bending at an impossible angle, then collapsed forward onto one hand, clawing at his throat with the other that kept vibrating in and out of reality.

“Thirty seconds, Percival. I know. I’m sorry.” Newt's voice was shaking and then Credence’s body tore itself apart into the obscurus. It was strong, too strong, more powerful than Graves had ever seen before. The protective sphere blew apart in a shower of white hot sparks as the obscurus collided into it. 

The force knocked them backwards and. Graves hit the ground hard on his side. The world spun for a moment but he was already catching up his wand where it laid in the mud and standing. “Credence!”

Shit. The obscurus was still there and for a heartstopping moment, Graves wished he wasn’t, that he had fled, torn across the Meadowlands heading away from his attacker. It hovered over the small bubble of a barrier that Tina had cast over her and Newt. The magizoologist was unmoving on the ground. 

“Credence!” Graves shouted. “Credence, _listen_ to me!”

No response. The obscurus seemed to be spinning, gathering itself. It had never simply not responded before. Was Credence even conscious? He had to be alive-- Newt had insisted that an obscurus couldn’t survive its host without special protection, but he’d also readily admitted that Credence was different, stronger, unique. Credence had fallen, clutching at his throat like he couldn’t breathe…  
Graves pushed the thought away. “Credence! I know how much that must have hurt. I know how scared you must be. Please, Credence. You asked me to help you; you said you wanted to try. No one wants to hurt you. Please. Just stop this!”

The obscurus hurtled out of the sky, slamming into the shield with amazing force. It was too powerful, more powerful than Graves had ever seen before. They’d certainly provoked it enough; it was wild and desperate, totally out of control. There was no barrier to muffle it, conceal its presence and he knew that every Dark Detector in MACUSA must be lit up, now that they knew they should be looking for an obscurus. This wouldn’t be like the first time. There would be Aurors here. Soon. 

”Credence!” He could see the cracks in the shield already. It wouldn’t hold. _”Credence!”_

No response and the cracks were spreading through the barrier. The obscurus responded to threats and right now Newt was the most present, most recent one and Graves leveled his wand, even as he felt his eyes burn. Then it needed a new threat. 

_”Fulmen.”_ It was the most basic spell in an Auror arsenal, the white lightning they had leveled on Credence in the subway. All of them could do it non-verbally; many wandlessly as well but he didn’t trust his composure right now. Light leapt from his wand and crackled into nothingness against the obscurus, but it was enough. It wheeled towards the more immediate threat. They had no time. Graves knew the amount of time it would take; the ready squad was probably already mustering. Branson. It would be Branson’s team and they would have to stop by the briefing room and if Sophie was true she would delay them as much as she could but it wouldn’t be for long. 

“Get him out of here!” Graves yelled to Tina. Newt still wasn’t moving but he didn’t have time. The obscurus was nearly on him and he apparated away, drawing the it with him. He avoided firing on the obscurus again, unable to bear that he had hurt Credence even once and not wanting to provoke it any further. It would wear itself out in time but time wasn’t a resource they had. 

Graves mistimed his apparition, hit the ground too hard, stumbled and fell and barely apparated out of the way again. God, it was fast--- raw and powerful in a way he hadn’t seen before and the lead he had previously been able to keep was slipping away from him. His heart was pounding in his chest from exhaustion and adrenaline. The Aurors should be here by now but they weren’t. God bless Sophie but Graves knew he had no time, no time at all.

Graves apparated once more, watching the obscurus hurtle towards him. He waited, timing it and then as soon as it was almost upon him, he cast the barrier spell and closed his eyes, praying he hadn’t made a mistake. 

Cold flooded his body. When he opened his eyes he was surrounded by buzzing, seething blackness. He was wrong when he had thought of the obscurus as simply smoke. It was smoke and fire, fine lines of sparking magic and power amidst the darkness. It shifted with an eerie sound, like rasping sand and crackling flame. It made the hair on Graves’ arms and back of his neck stand on end. The sheer power of it might be awe-inspiring if it weren’t so deadly, if they had more time. 

“Credence,” he said softly. “You’ve broken through a barrier that both Tina and I were holding up. You were about to break Tina’s. I’m guessing you’re staying here willingly.” _That’s what the obscurus feels like. Someone talks me down._

There wasn’t an answer but he wasn’t dead, just staring at the fine sparkling lines of magic in the shifting dark. He felt like if he breathed too hard, he might end up with it in his lungs. He lifted a hand and the darkness parted, retreating just enough, limning his hand with cold. 

Something rocked against his shield-- an impact from the outside. 

The Aurors were here. He made the shield as opaque as possible, turning his collar up to hide as much of his face as possible. It felt foolish to even care about being seen, about protecting his career right now but the action was reflex. 

“Credence, you need to stop.” He started to collapse the shield, making it smaller. There wasn’t enough space for both of them now-- the obscurus had to condense, to retreat to avoid killing Graves. For a moment, he saw the faintest hint of a face, torn and struggling. 

A shock of searing cold tore through his left arm and the entire limb went numb. “Credence, the next thing they are going to do as soon as they have enough people here is cast an anti-disparition jinx and then we’ll be trapped. You are not a monster. Prove it. Control it.” Spells were rocking against the the barrier even as it condensed; none of them particularly strong, but a flurry of them. The Aurors were firing non-stop, trying to keep their target’s head down until they could get an anti-disparition field. It would be over then. Both of them would be tried and likely executed and everyone who had followed Graves into this mess would pay the piper as well. Tina, Queenie, Sophie, Newt, even that damn No-Maj baker. They wouldn’t believe his family wasn’t complicit; they would go after Elaine and Matthew and Izzy.

“Now, Credence!” There was panic in his voice, terror and he collapsed the shield the rest of the way. His body went cold again but he was still breathing and there were limbs in the blackness and Credence was still more spectral than solid but he caught him with his numb left arm and they were away. 

They appeared in his house, hitting the couch in a tangle of limbs and coats and Graves thanked anything that might be listening that he hadn’t splinched them both in that frantic disparation. Credence was crying, clutching at a burn mark that started at his collarbone and went down six inches just past his pectoral muscle. “What--- I….” He didn’t seem to understand or remember what had happened. 

The hearth was flaring purple; someone was trying reach him via the Floo Network and he felt for who it was. Sophie. He dropped the ward.

“Percival, what the hell happened?” Her head floated in the flames.

“Went wrong. Did they see me?” His entire left sleeve was seared off from mid-bicep down, coat and shirt alike. The skin was red and angry looking, but still numb and cold to the touch. 

Sophie had spotted the injury. “What on---”

“Did they _see me_?” he asked again. 

“No, they think Grindelwald has him. You better get in here.” 

“Coming.” He closed the ward again, cutting the connection before Sophie could say anything else and went to Credence. 

Credence had pulled into a ball, knees to his chest, shaking. 

“Credence.” 

“I nearly killed Newt. I nearly killed you.” 

Graves reached for Credence’s cheek. “It’s not your---” he started to say but Credence flinched away from his touch and he dropped his hand. He wanted to hold him, gather him close and promise it was alright, but he would be fine, that Newt would be fine. He wanted to heal the burn mark that his spell had left on his lover’s body but Credence didn’t want to be touched and he had no time, no time to use gentle words and reassurances to coax him back. He had to go into MACUSA, get a handle on what his department knew and what they didn’t; he had to be in control fo the investigation, to know if it was coming their way in time to prepare for it. 

Trouble came at a trot at Credence’s distress, jumping up on the couch and it hurt Graves more than he knew how to articulate that the younger man reached out and fisted his hands into Trouble’s fur as he sobbed. The cold in his arm was starting to subside, giving way to a throbbing agony and Graves knelt there, paralyzed in his living room. 

Queenie. She was the only other person that Credence touched willingly; she wouldn’t be called into MACUSA. Hopefully the exceptions to the wards were still there. 

“I’m sorry,” he told Credence, catching his arm and apparating them again. Queenie came rushing from the other room; she must have felt them arrive. Graves had no walls up and the panic and misery leaking from him must have hit like a physical blow.

“Percival!”

He nearly buckled, catching hold of one of the chairs at the table to steady himself. Credence was barely upright and he'd unintentionally brought Trouble with them. “I don’t know what to do.” His voice was shaking. HIs hands were shaking. Where was his control? “He won’t let me touch him; he needs healing. Help me. Help him.” 

Queenie took Credence from him and Trouble jumped down with a squeak, clearly disoriented from the Apparition. Graves looked to Tina. Newt was on the couch, eyes closed but he was breathing. Thank God. The idea of telling Theseus he had gotten his little brother killed... “Is he alright?”

“I think so. He’s just unconscious. Did they see you?”

“Sophie says no. They think it’s Grindelwald.” The beginnings of hysterical laughter bubbled in his chest at the morbid idea that after so long of MACUSA mistaking Grindelwald for him, once, just once, they had mistaken him for Grindelwald. His chest hurt and his heart was beating so loudly he could almost hear it in his ears. 

“Percival.” He looked up and caught Queenie’s gaze. There was a wash of effervescent light in his mind, like a wave and when it retreated, it left calm in its wake. “Go be the Director. I have Credence. It will be alright.” 

“Thank you.” It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he left. 

He’d repaired his shirt and coat before going to MACUSA, but the place was in chaos as he walked into the briefing room. 

“Situation,” he snapped. He listened as Branson ran down his report. Tina and Newt hadn’t been seen at all and the most they had on him was a tall wizard in a dark coat. Most of the Aurors seemed to be assuming it was Grindelwald and Graves wasn’t going to point out their lack of evidence. They were searching Meadowlands. 

“We didn’t get the field up in time,” Branson concluded quietly. “We’re too used to having Oakhurst to do it. It’s hard to do it without aerial support.”

“Brooms might be an option to consider in the interim but I’ll speak to Personnel about the possibility of recruiting an Animagus. Keep me informed.” He was astonished at how calm his voice sounded. He noticed Tina slip into the back as he turned to go. “Goldstein, McIlvain, with me.” 

The two women fell into step behind as he went towards his office and let all three of them in before activating the wards laid into the walls of the office, sealing and silencing it. 

“Tina, how is Credence?” 

She winced. “Better but shaken. He let Queenie heal him but he’s not really talking. He won’t even look at Newt.” 

Graves leaned heavily on his desk. He’d healed his arm as best he could, but it still ached and burned. He could still taste the metallic aftertaste of adrenaline on his tongue. “Damnit. I…” He'd _hurt_ Credence. He'd put all of them in terrible danger. No. Not right now. He couldn’t think like that right now or he’d lose the composure Queenie had given him. Solve the problem first; count the cost later.

Sophie was staring with a look of growing horror on her face and she covered her mouth with a hand. 

“What?”

“Percival. Where’s your collar pin?”

Shit. He touched the base of his throat. The scorpion collar pin, given to him as a joke by Picquery when he’d dressed down the entire Congress at his own confirmation hearing. The collar was intact; the tie was too. It hadn’t been splinched. His stomach dropped. “...somewhere in the Meadowlands.”

The room was silent for a long moment as they all did the calculations. 40 acres of wetland, twenty Aurors searching it. The likelihood of it being found. The utter impossibility of claiming that it belonged to anyone but Graves. 

“Merlin.” Tina shook her head. “Do you know where?” 

“He knocked us down and I led him west. Fell again once, but it could have come off another time.” An odd icy calm had settled into his stomach. So he was paying the piper now. “I’m sorry; I’ve torched both of your careers.”

“Signed up for it,” Sophie answered. “Second I didn’t turn you in.” 

Tina shrugged. “Never been a very good Auror,” she said with a show of bravado. 

“Nonsense and you know it,” Sophie corrected her quietly. 

“Say you’ve been coerced. Tina, I blackmailed you; your silence was the cost of your promotion. Same with Queenie; I threatened her job. Sophie, I have actually used the Imperius Curse on you; it’s a technical truth.” It would pass Legilimency, because he had, even if it had been in training and the worst he’d made her do was push-ups. Maybe, just maybe, the two would avoid jail. 

“Percival, we’ll find it.”

“Go and look. But we need to prepare for the possibility that someone else does.” There were twenty Aurors in the field right now. Twenty balanced against two. 

They left. Graves wrote. He wrote a resignation letter to Picquery. He took responsibility, claimed to have coerced Sophie and both the Goldstein sisters. He’d always thought he’d been writing this letter in his sixties, recommending a replacement, leaving with honors, not begging for Picquery to blame him and leave his team alone. He wrote a brief note to Newt, though the man already knew what to do, to get Credence to safety. He included a check made out to cash with nearly every Dragot he had in his account. It would be more than enough for two tickets to London. It would be enough for a wand, for private instruction, for a downpayment on a flat. It was all he could do. 

No. Not quite all and it wasn’t just Credence he had to protect now. His foolishness had ruined other lives as well. He wrote to Theseus. 

_Thes,_

_I know you said a while ago that it finally seemed that I had grown out of the “crazy” Yankee nickname you all gave me in the war. You were wrong. I’ve done something terribly, terribly reckless and I’m about to pay the piper for it._

_I don’t mind. I would have said it was worth it but I’ve ruined other people too. Your brother, Tina and Queenie Goldstein, Sophie McIlvain. I’ve made them criminals. Tina and Sophie are among my best Aurors. Queenie is a skilled Legilimens and wasted in her current position at MACUSA. They may accompany your brother to London. If they do, help them as much as you can. I’ve included their personnel files here._

_Newt will be bringing someone else; I shouldn’t say more, but Newt will explain. Help him. Please. For my sake._

_Perce._

He sealed the letter and placed it a larger envelope of things for Newt--- the check, the note, the letter for Theseus. The letter he’d written for Credence after Oakhurst’s death. Three personnel files. He sent it through the tubes to Queenie’s desk; she would be the last of them to be suspected and she would be able to get it to Newt. It wouldn’t be enough to repair the damage he had done, but it was the best he could do. 

“Damnit.” He put his head in his hands. He couldn’t go looking in the Meadowlands himself; it made no sense for him to do so and it might compromise the story he needed to sell to Picquery and the other Aurors. He waited in the deep darkness of his office. There was nothing else to do, besides wait for the other shoe to drop, for his Aurors to arrive and ask him to come with them. For a brief moment, he wished he kept a bottle of brandy in his office. 

Even if Tina or Sophie worked a miracle and found the collar pin--- or if no one found it-- it was too dangerous for Credence to stay in New York. The city was even less safe than it was yesterday. They knew he was here. They knew he had a wizard ally-- who they assumed was Grindelwald-- and they knew Grindelwald’s plans. It might be better this way; Grindelwald had avoided England for some reason; Credence would be safe there and he was at least partially convinced that the younger man would never forgive him for hurting him. Graves wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive himself. 

He hated it but there was nothing he could do. Either way, his brief delusion of having a future-- either with Credence or at all-- was done. 

“Percival.” 

He hadn’t even noticed Tina enter his office. She set the mud-encrusted scorpion collar pin down on his desk. So it would just be a future with Credence that died tonight and for a moment, Graves wasn’t entirely sure that was better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe putting an obscurus in a pressure cooker wasn't the best idea... Before anyone shoots me, there are two chapters left! All will not be misery! 
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/


	14. Shortsighted Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves and Credence have run out of options. Queenie had warned them it was going to hurt in the end.

It was nearly eleven o’clock at night when Graves finally felt he could leave the Woolworth Building without suspicion. The night was clear and cold and the streetlights cast warm gold puddles of light as he walked down Barclay Street. He needed to think, to clear his head, so he walked a few blocks. He’d find a secluded place to apparate in a bit. It was snowing faintly, collecting on Graves’ hair and his scarf. Once he’d knew that they were at least temporarily safe from discovery, the adrenaline had faded. He was exhausted; he had been awake for over thirty-six hours, but at least the pain in his arm had subsided. He just felt tired. Tired and sad and so much older than he actually was. 

Graves walked until his fingers started to go numb from cold, ending up on Battery Park Esplanade. He leaned on a railing, looking out across the water towards Jersey City on the other side, invisible in the darkness, a small unseen echo of her gorgeous glittering twin. New York City. Merlin, he loved it more than he ever thought he would have when he first came here as a 19 year old recruit used to Ilvermorny’s isolation or the acreage of Graves family manor. It had been twenty years since then. New York City was his home, but for a moment, he let himself entertain the idea of leaving, of dropping a resignation on Picquery’s desk and getting on a ship to London. 

It would be _easy_. The brownstone would rent out easily; the Scamanders somehow had forgiven him. They still adored him. Theseus had enough ministry connections that Graves would probably have a job before he even set foot on dry land. Taking Credence to Diagon Alley to find a wand and then maybe to the Criterion for dinner, walking out to Westminster to see the sunset on the Thames, having a life, a future that included him: the idea was intoxicating. But Credence needed to be safe and right now, MACUSA knew he was alive and thought he was collaborating with Grindelwald. They would never stop looking for him and Graves’ best option for keeping him safe was to stay where he was and make sure the name Credence Barebone never hit MACUSA’s radar again.

He just had to convince Credence of that. 

Graves apparated to the Goldsteins. The faint light spilling from underneath the sliding bedroom doors made it clear that at least one of the sisters was still awake, but no one emerged. Credence was on the couch in the semi-darkness, lit only by the moonlight through the windows, the faint light from the bedroom, and Trouble’s iridescent fur. 

“Credence,” Graves said softly. He moved to sit on the other side of the couch but didn’t make any move to touch him or Trouble. He could see the younger man watching him just from the way the light shifted off the whites of his eyes. 

“You hurt me.” It was all Credence said. 

The younger man’s tone had been neutral but Graves felt even more exhausted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking down at his hands. “I know,” he said softly. “I broke a promise I made you. I’m sorry.” 

“I nearly killed Newt.”

“Yes. But you didn’t.”

“I nearly killed you.”

“Yes. But you didn’t.”

“Is that why you’re sending me away?” 

Graves jerked. Queenie must have gotten the envelope and said something to him. “What? Credence, no.” 

“Then why? You promised…” Credence looked away from him and Graves felt it like a blow again. He moved from the couch to the floor, crouching on one knee in front of Credence. “Credence, please look at me.” Credence only curled into himself in response, pulling one knee up and against his chest. Graves hung his head and found himself irrationally noticing the black dress sock. It must have been cold for Credence to leave his socks on. He should have slippers. Graves hadn’t thought to buy any when he’d taken him to Macy’s. 

“I never promised you a future with me,” he said softly. “I promised I’d keep you safe, that you would be free, that you would never had to be afraid again. I can’t keep those promises if you stay in New York. MACUSA knows you’re alive now. They think you’re with Grindelwald. They’ll never stop looking for you.” He stared at the floor. “If you stay here, you’ll be a prisoner in my house. You’ll never learn magic. I won’t do that to you.”

“You can’t make me leave,” Credence’s voice was shaking. He sounded almost desperate. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I don’t.” Graves still couldn’t look up. “I don’t get to make that decision. But I’m right. Credence, if you stay, if you give up on magic and safety and freedom, you’ll resent it. You’ll resent me and I’ll lose you.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’d rather lose you like this than have you hate me.”

“I wish I could.” 

Graves had no idea what to say. He’d never been good at breaking hearts gently. He should leave. Newt had the check, the note Graves had written; the magizoologist knew what to do. 

The second black-socked foot touched the ground. “Percival.” Graves glanced up and Credence had unfolded and the younger man’s eyes were glittering damp. “I don’t want to sleep here tonight."

“Of course,” Graves said and took him-- and Trouble-- home. 

When they appeared in the bedroom, Credence carried Trouble to the doorway, set her down outside, and then closed the door. “I don’t want to actually sleep tonight either,” he said. 

“Credence.” Percival was standing in the center of the room, hands in his pockets, still fully dressed-- long black coat, vest and tie, that blue scarf that he never seemed to be without. Did he wear it in the summer too? That would be foolish, absurd, but maybe the scarf was sentimental-- a gift from Cador or Elaine. Credence wouldn’t get to find out and the monstrous unfairness of it made his throat close with emotion. 

“I mean it.” He hated it. He hated that other man was right and that there was no other option. Even as much as he loved Percival, the idea of living in this house for the rest of his life made him claustrophobic and frantic, like an animal in a cage. As much as Credence wanted the older man, the idea of sacrificing magic-- sacrificing the thing he’d been willing to burn down his entire life for--made him nauseous. “I’ll go. I’ll get on the ship; I’ll go to England. But I’m not sleeping tonight.” 

Percival still didn’t say a word, but he took off his coat and his scarf and draped them over a bedpost. By the time Credence reached him, he’d gotten rid of his tie and collar pin as well. Credence leaned his head against his shoulder even as he reached down and unbuttoned his vest. “Say it again.” 

Percival’s hands settled on his hips. “You are my goddamn miracle,” he said against his ear. “My gorgeous wonder. The only thing I would trade five months of my life for.” The vest fell in a puddle of fabric on the floor and the older man stepped out of his shoes as well.

Credence tilted his head up to kiss him. This close, even in the semi-darkness, lit only by whatever moonlight made it through the snow outside, he noticed Percival’s exhaustion. The older man had circles under his eyes and the pomade was losing its grip on his hair. A few strands were already loose, falling down into his eyes. Credence touched the other man’s face and felt the stubble on his jawline rasp against his palm. “Have you slept since I saw you last?”

“Does twenty minutes in my office count?” 

“We don’t have to…” Credence suddenly felt selfish. 

Graves took his palm and kissed it. “Shush. I want to.” He _was_ exhausted; the idea of sleeping for a week sounded incredibly appealing, but he could do that later. Credence was too tall, too heavy to carry far, but he could manage a few yards, lifting the younger man and moving them both to the bed. There was a scrabbling sound at the door and then a thump. Graves paused long enough to ascertain that it was only Trouble and not Aurors trying to break down his door before kissing Credence lingeringly. He ran a hand through the younger man’s hair and bit his lower lip lightly, enjoying the soft sigh of pleasure. 

“Gorgeous,” he said again, fingering the dark hair, silken and wavy thanks to the charm comb. “I never thought your hair would grow out like that.” 

“Have you ever grown out yours?” Credence asked. He ran a hand along Graves’ jaw and into his hair, ruining any grip the pomade had left. His hair fell in loose strands. 

“Not really. I tried once, when I was a junior Auror, but it kept getting in my eyes.” Graves kissed Credence’s neck and started to unbutton his shirt. 

“Why do you always wear that blue scarf? Is it a gift?” 

Graves nodded. “Elaine bought it for me a few Christmases ago. It’s warm and I like the color.” He’d finished with the buttons and he couldn’t help but press a kiss to a bit of exposed skin where Credence’s undershirt had ridden up.

“Is blue your favorite color?” 

The question threw Graves a little. “Credence, what…” Then he realized what the younger man and had to swallow past the desire to weep. Credence was asking for the details that he would have known if he’d had a year with him. Or two years. No matter. Time. More time than they were getting. “Yes,” he got out. “Blue’s my favorite color.”

“Why do you put sugar in your tea but not in your coffee?” Credence sat up enough to shed his shirt and undershirt. 

Credence was killing him, as surely as his obscurus nearly had but Graves swallowed down the grief and the despair. “British wizards. No one drinks their tea black. I had a hard enough time convincing them to leave the milk out.” Graves pulled away long enough to lose his own shirt and undershirt, socks and sock-garters. 

“Were you born in New York?” 

“Massachusetts. I moved to New York when MACUSA recruited me.” He smiled weakly. “Twenty years.” He kissed Credence to keep him from asking any more questions, pressing him back down on the bed. The younger man almost immediately reached for Graves’ belt and Graves shifted to let him have it. He was torn between pride at the younger man’s resilience, that both of their belts were tossed off the bed now with only a flickering moment of fear from the other man, and grief that Credence would likely never surprise him like this again. 

“You are a wonder,” Graves said again and kissed Credence, closing his eyes and lingering there. He slid a hand into his tousled black hair and smelled lemon and flowers; Credence must have showered at the Goldsteins. Graves focused on the warmth and the smoothness of the younger man’s skin under his fingers. He would give Credence what he wanted. He could be maudlin later. He could fall apart later but right now he couldn’t trust his voice, so he used mouth and lips and hands to write what he wanted to say on Credence’s body. 

Percival scraped his teeth over Credence’s collarbone and pressed a kiss into the faint pink lines his teeth had left. He slid down and licked at one of Credence’s nipples until the younger man shivered with desire. 

Credence slid a hand into Percival’s ruined hair and tugged on it, pulling him up to kiss him. The older man tasted mostly like bitter coffee and Credence wasn’t surprised. He knew Percival well enough to feel the difference, the fatigue and the grief, yes, but also an infallible gentleness, a precision and dedication like he had something to prove. It was simultaneously heart-breaking and erotic. Credence pressed into the kiss and slid his hands down Percival’s arms. His thumbs brushed the lean muscle of the bicep and then dropped to push at his pants until Percival got the hint and took them off.

As soon as Percival was close enough again, Credence wrapped a hand around him. His cock was heavy and warm against the younger man’s palm and he glanced up at Percival’s face as the older man hovered over him. He would never grow tired of watching Percival’s face contort like that, eyes closed, mouth open, the groan low and guttural.

“ _Shit_ , Credence,” and then Percival was kissing him desperately, tongue in his mouth, teeth on his lower lip. The other man was hard against his thigh. Credence pushed at him again, moving him away just long enough to get his own pants over his hips, needing to be skin on skin. Percival helped strip the clothes away and came back to him immediately, bodies entangled, thigh over thigh. The older man picked up the kiss where he had left off, a thumb on his jaw and he murmured something soft and affectionate in between kisses. Credence was momentarily glad he couldn’t understand the endearment. He didn’t think he could stand the rumbled baritone of _my gorgeous wonder_ without crying at the cruelty of that deceptive pronoun.

Graves wrapped a hand around them both and pressed his lips against Credence’s neck, tasting his skin and the heat of his pulse. He could feel Credence’s nails dig into his hip and drag against the skin with pleasure. “Tell me what you want tonight.” Tonight he could give, even that would be the last of it. 

“I want to be yours.” 

“You _are_ mine,” and Graves wished he could say that without a pang of hypocrisy.

“No. Not like… You know what I mean.” Credence was blushing and Graves understood. 

“If you’re sure,” Graves kissed him again even as he held a hand out, summoning what he needed to him. “This may not be comfortable at first.”

“I am.” Credence had thought about it before and didn’t want anyone but Percival like this. The look on the older man’s face when they had done that, the impossible tightness of Percival around him, the friction of it, he wanted that for himself, to give it to Percival in return. 

It wasn’t comfortable at first. Credence jumped and blushed red when Percival touched him and it took him a moment to calm the first time the older man introduced a finger but he eventually relaxed into it and Percival finally hit something that made him jerk and gasp at the sudden pulse of pleasure. 

“What?”

Percival’s baritone chuckle echoed in his ear. “That’s sort of the point,” he told him as he worked a second figure in. Credence couldn’t keep back the gasp, clinging to him. 

A third had him squirming and his nails dug into the other man’s back. “Percival, please.”

“Are---”

“Don’t you even ask,” Credence bit out, breathless with desire. 

The surety of that defiance hit Graves with another rush of pride. He kissed Credence again as he aligned them and started to push inside. The kiss turned into a gasp though, panting against Credence’s lips. God, he was tight, impossibly tight and he could hear Credence echo the gasp, breath hissing against his lips.

“You alright?” he breathed even as he couldn’t stop himself, hips rocking slightly, the heat and grip an impossible distraction. 

“Yeah.” Credence’s voice was breathless. Graves ran a hand through Credence’s hair and looked down at him. The younger man’s eyelids were half-lidded and his lips were red and swollen from kisses. Twin spots of pink burned in his cheeks.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Graves told him, leaning down to kiss him again as he started to move slowly, fighting his own desires. 

Credence was so full. The pressure, the friction, the praise, it all mixed in his head and he found himself clinging to Percival, nails digging into his sides. It was impossible to breathe, half in desire, half in despair at the idea of having found this man and having to give him up. 

“Tell me to stay.” The words slipped out as Percival’s hips rolled and dragged against him, moving inside him. Credence’s voice was broken and hitched half in desire and half in desperation. “Tell me to stay.” It was a terrible idea. Percival was right; Credence would grow to resent his cage and even his loving, beautiful, faithful jailer. They would destroy each other but at the moment he didn’t care. If Percival said it, he would do it, would burn up the future just to extend the present. 

For once, just once, Percival didn’t do as he was told. 

“Shhh. Shhh, darling, my darling.” Percival pressed two fingers over his mouth and then slid down, wrapping around Credence’s erection. His grip was tight; his palm calloused from wand and quill and it made it hard for Credence to think or speak, let alone plead for shortsighted deliverance. 

The gesture had been for them both; Graves didn’t think he would have been able to silence his own _I’ll go with you_ if Credence had asked again. Credence cried out and arched against him and Graves buried his mouth against the younger man’s neck, losing himself in the rising tension. Credence was tight and hot around him; nails digging into his abdomen hard enough that he knew he’d carry the marks on his skin tomorrow. The idea made him groan with desire and it was nearly impossible to hold back. 

Credence was leaking between his fingers and he’d started to whimper frantic warnings as his hands slid to Graves’ shoulders. Graves knew he wouldn’t be far behind, tension curling in the base of his stomach and he kissed Credence sloppily. “I got you,” he said. “I got you.” 

Credence went over the edge with a high-pitched cry against his mouth as his body arched. His nails bit into Graves’ shoulders and it was all it took; the older man followed him with a groan. 

Graves hung there for a moment, wrung out, every last reserve he had spent. A few locks of Credence’s hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and he brushed them away with a shaking hand. “You alright?”  
Credence nodded, eyes still half-glazed, panting. Graves shifted enough so that he wasn’t crushing Credence when he dropped onto the bed. The younger man was shivering. At first, Graves thought he was cold so he waved a hand to light the fire. It took him a moment to realize that Credence had quietly started to cry as reality returned to them both. 

Graves kissed the top of his forehead. “It’ll be alright,” he said softly and heard Credence’s choked snarl to stop _lying_ , but he didn’t know what else to say. 

“Tell me to stay. Tell me to stay, Percival,” Credence said again against his neck.

“You know I can’t.” He was too exhausted for grief, for regret, to second-guess or calculate. 

They slept. 

 

At 3:15 pm the next day, two men stood on the pier where the _RMS Aquitania_ was about to start boarding. The snow of the night before had turned to slush, churned into grey sludge by the many feet that came and went on the docks and the wind off the water made it bitterly cold. They’d found Newt and Tina in the crowd; Newt was easy to spot with the peacock blue coat and Trouble was already carefully stashed in the suitcase.

Graves was tired despite the coffee he had made that morning. He’d woken from a nightmare a scant hour after falling asleep, dreaming of Aurors storming his house; Credence drowning in the black of the Atlantic like Cador had. The sound of his ragged breathing had woken Credence and the younger man had reached for him again. Graves had gone willingly, eager to forget himself in the younger man’s touch. Credence would have a bruise on his arm from how tightly Graves had held him and it would match the one Graves had on his hip. Graves had woken Credence with kisses in the late morning, with sunlight streaming through the curtains of the bedroom and painting ribbons across the bed. It had been slow and lazy and sweet and he could have sworn that Credence had gasped something like _I love you_ in his ear, but he hadn’t had the courage to ask him to say it again. There wasn’t any point. 

Right now, though, Graves didn’t know what to say. “You’ll like England,” he said finally, lamely, as if Credence was going there on vacation.

Credence didn’t say a word. His head was down and his eyes were red from crying. Graves hated it. It was almost physically painful to keep from touching or kissing him and the older man put his hands in his coat pockets as if that might abate the desire. 

The _Aquitania_ was boarding first class. 

“I think that’s us,” Newt said softly, then added to Graves. “Thank you. Again. Steerage would have been fine.” 

Graves shook his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Newt handed him the envelope. “...since we’ve avoided the worst, I don’t think we need this.” 

Graves opened it and sorted through the content, keeping the three personnel files, the letters to Theseus and Credence, but handed the check back to Newt. “Take it. Whatever he needs.” It was money. It didn’t matter. 

Newt didn’t argue and tucked the check into his coat. “I’ll send my brother your regards.” He turned back to Tina. 

When Graves shifted his attention back to Credence, the younger man hugged him, nearly knocking him off balance. 

“Credence.” Graves caught his waist to steady him.

“I love you. Tell me to stay.” Credence’s voice was distinct and clear this time, the words directly against his ear. There was no coward’s way out, to feign lack of comprehension this time. 

Graves bit his lip to keep from saying anything, from responding. It wouldn’t change anything; it would only make it worse. He gently untangled himself from Credence. He couldn’t quite do it entirely and his hands lingered on the younger man’s arms. It was so impersonal through the coat, so many layers between their skin. “Go to London,” he told him. “Learn magic. You’ll meet people there-- wizards, witches-- and you won’t have your past hanging over you like this.” A handsome young American with money in his pocket? London would be wide open to him, full of possibilities. Graves knew. He’d been the new arrival once, the Yankee free from his past-- and Credence needed to understand that he was free. “You don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe this city anything.” 

“Percival, what are you _saying_?” Credence was shaking his head. 

“That you don’t owe me anything. And you should remember that when you meet someone in London.” 

“I don’t…” Credence was struggling for words, clearly reeling and Graves felt like an ass. He was making this worse. 

Graves couldn’t help it; he kissed the corner of his mouth, just for a moment. Any No-Maj who dared say a word was getting an immediate and wandless Obliviation. “You will be alright. I promise, Credence. Take care of yourself.”

“We’ll miss boarding.” Newt interrupted and Graves stepped back and let the magizoologist take the younger man’s elbow. Credence didn’t resist being guided. He looked small even though he was Newt’s height. It was like he’d collapsed in on himself. It was hard to watch. Graves did anyway as they went up the gangway and was almost relieved when Newt kept Credence from looking back. 

And then the crew was pulling up the gangway and losing the ship from her moorings and they were en route. Graves stood for a moment. The ship was slow-moving; he could still see it and for a single moment he considered simply apparating onto deck. He could do it. It would be easy. 

“Percival.” Tina’s voice snapped him out of the thought. Easy or no, it wouldn’t be the right decision. HIs place was here. He could best protect Credence here. Tina stood next to him and they watched the ship pull away for a moment. “Do you want to come by? It’ll just be leftovers.”

Graves wasn’t sure which would be more unbearable; going home to his empty house or the Goldsteins’ apartment full of sympathetic faces and Queenie’s Legilimency. “Maybe later,” he said softly. 

She stood there a for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said finally and left him be. 

Graves remained and watched the ship grow smaller. The wind blew; his feet grew damp and he noted idly that Grindelwald must not have maintained the Waterproofing Charm on his boots. He tucked his chin into the blue scarf. He couldn’t make out details of _Aquitania_ any more, just a nondescript shape, lost amongst the other vessels moving to and fro in the harbor. It was beyond a safe visual Apparition range now; he would likely dump himself into the grey foam-flecked waters of the harbor if he were to try now. 

He only vaguely heard bootheels clicking behind him. 

“Sophie?”

“Queenie sent me a note. She worried you might still be out here.” 

“Let me guess. Martyr.” 

She shook her head. “You get to hurt as much as you need today.” 

They stood there in silence for a moment. 

“Remember how you were so concerned I was going to get killed by an obscurial?” Graves’ voice was hoarser than he wanted.

Sophie glanced at him, confused. “I do. And I was wrong. And I apologize.” 

“No.” The weak sunlight of a winter afternoon was sliding towards evening and the slush was slowly freezing into treacherous grey ice. “No. You weren’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter left! Don't shoot me yet!
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/


	15. Fidelius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things are just not Graves' decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN for sort of semi-public sex?

Graves worked. It was the only way he knew to deal with the rawness that simply wouldn’t heal. He found Modesty Barebone. A NYPD cop had found her the night of the obscurus attacks and taken her home to his wife. The girl was a No-Maj so he couldn’t visibly do much. However, the Rappaport Law did not say anything about very large anonymous donation with very specific conditions to a girls’ education charity and if the foolhardy idiots in Congress were going to adhere to the absolute letter of the law, then so would he. He wrote to Ilvermorny to confirm that Credence had been sent a letter and then drafted a memo to Picquery detailing the facts and asking her to propose a protocol to Congress that would ensure that they never lost another child. He chased dark wizards and beast smugglers; he fought with Congress and trained his Aurors. 

 

Three months after Credence had left, Graves taught the Patronus Charm to his squad. One of the British Aurors had told them that the spell, of limited use given that there were neither Dementors nor Lethifolds in North America, could also be used to send messages. It seemed a useful tool to have in their arsenal. Sophie’s Patronus was a beautiful silver fox with three bushy tails. Tina’s was a large lizard with darts of flame emerging from its skin. Even Madalena Cortez, newly returned to the squad from the hospital, eventually produced an eagle, though it fizzled in and out of solidity. Graves, however, stared in confusion at the vaporous silver cloud his wand had produced. He knew he was strong enough to produce a corporeal Patronus. He’d done it before. Theseus had taught him the spell during the war and he’d called forth a panther, sleek and deadly. This was not a wild and graceful jungle cat. This...was an amorphous silvery blob, shifting faintly as if it was blown by a breeze. 

“You said it relies on the strength of a happy memory,” Cortez had suggested. “No disrespect, sir, but you’ve had a shitty year.” 

“You’re probably right,” Graves acknowledged. It had been worse than Cortez even knew--- she likely meant only Grindelwald and the--

Obscurus. 

A patronus was always silver. It was the nature of the spell, but Graves knew with a sudden heartsick jolt that his was supposed to be black. It was supposed to be inky black smoke and fire, with fine lines of sparking magic and power amidst the darkness that would have been beautiful if it weren’t so deadly. His patronus was an obscurus. 

Graves finished the bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy that night. 

 

Six months after Credence left, he got a letter from Theseus that wasn’t part of his normally longer correspondence. it was short, only one line. The handwriting was jagged, clearly annoyed. _Damnit, Perce. Couldn’t you have told me he was yours BEFORE I made an ass out of myself?_

Graves’ hands shook when he read it. He wanted to weep with selfish joy that Credence still thought of him. He wanted to send a seething Howler winging across the Atlantic and rage at Theseus to back off. He wanted to send a polite and friendly letter saying that no, Credence really wasn’t his and he wished them well if things worked out. In the end, he did none of those things and answered Theseus’ regular correspondence as if he hadn’t ever received the addendum. 

It was hard to reach Newt and even harder to reach Credence. Newt traveled too much for his research and Credence started to accompany him. The movement kept him away from populated areas where any incidence of an obscurus might be noted, but it meant it might be months before a letter could reach them and months before a response came. Newt sent him letters occasionally. Credence was doing well; his wand was twelve inches, willow and unicorn hair. Graves couldn’t keep back the smile when he read that. It was perfect; bent but not broken, powerful and purehearted. They had another possible option for removing the obscurus, but it would take quite a while. Newt had a theory that Credence’s own magic might be the key. 

Credence wrote to him once. _I’ll come back. Once the obscurus is gone._

Graves responded. _It still won’t be safe, Credence. Stop this. I’m so very glad that you remember me--- apparently with fondness-- but New York will never be safe for you._

Credence’s letter had been one line. _You don’t get to decide that._ He hadn’t written again. 

 

Ten months after Credence left, Queenie got caught. By the time, word reached Graves; it was almost too late. He’d jinxed the wand out of the Obliviator’s hand, put Queenie and Jacob in his office and sealed the door. Sophie sat in front of it and politely told the next Obliviator that he could duel her if they wanted to violate the Director’s orders.

Graves and Tina went to Congress and fought. Graves accused them of violating the spirit of the Rappaport Law to protect the letter. He reminded them that Jacob Kowalski would have been a _war hero_ if he had been one of them. He scandalized the Pentagram Chamber by asking Representative Vinaver about his Squib sister and Representativer Aspen about his Squib nephew, both as magic-less as Jacob, both proof of a No-Maj in their bloodlines somewhere. He reminded them that likely a full-third of the witches and wizards in the Pentagram Chamber had wands made by Johannes Jonker, who had No-Maj parents. In the end, their efforts got both of them a formal reprimand and two weeks’ suspension. Picquery found Obliviators that were less scared of Graves than they were of her, but by the time they reached his office, Queenie and Jacob were already gone, already on a ship to England. 

“Really, Graves?” Picquery asked him. “You’re picking this hill to die on?”

Graves’ smile was impeccably polite. “I have no idea how they got out of my office. Grindelwald must have weakened the wards in the five months he was impersonating me. Guess I didn’t notice. Funny how easy that is.”

“Careful how rash you are.” 

“Are you asking for my resignation?” he challenged.

Picquery had backed down. Sophie had seen and she watched him worriedly. Tina handed in her resignation the next day and followed her sister to England. Graves didn’t blame her. 

 

Fourteen months after Credence left, Graves ran into Ethan Braddock at MACUSA. He hadn’t seen him since they’d graduated from Ilvermorny. He was a businessman now, coming to speak to the Department of Magical Imports about a recent tax they had imposed on magical foodstuff. His hair had the same streaks of grey as Graves’, but god, did he have the same wicked smile, the same lean muscle. On a foolish, lonely impulse, Graves asked him to dinner. They talked about Ilvermorny and about Quidditch. Ethan had far more opinions about the Philadelphia Firedrakes than Graves really cared to hear about, but it was still good to have company, to talk with someone who didn’t know what had happened in the past year at all. Afterwards, they walked for a bit in the May air and when they were on an isolated street, Graves touched the other man’s face. “You know,” he said. “My house isn’t far.” 

Ethan pulled back and knocked his touch away with a hand that Graves hadn’t noticed the wedding ring on until just now. “Merlin, Percival. Really? You still haven’t grown out of that nonsense?” 

He had left and Graves had gone home alone. That night, he’d stared at the ceiling in the silent blackness. He dreamt the sound of breathing next to him, the soft iridescent glow of a Borealis puffskein and woke with tears in his eyes. 

 

At some point, Graves burned the letter to Credence in his desk drawer. There didn’t seem to be a point any more. 

 

Eighteen months after Credence left, Graves’ squad was pursuing a smuggler of Dark artifacts. The wizard was bringing the items in by boat, using No-Maj criminal networks and posing as a rumrunner. A discreet pilfering of NYPD arrest records had given Graves a lead. He didn’t wait for backup, for Sophie, Fletcher, or Cortez. Bellemonte moved fast; Graves needed to be faster. 

He duelled Bellemonte on a catwalk in a warehouse near Port Authority. When it became clear that Graves was the stronger of the two, the smuggler turned to alternative tactics, slicing through the chains that held up the catwalk. Graves didn’t notice in time to react and he hit the ground, all his weight entirely on his right foot. The bone had never really recovered; thin lines of weakness ran through it and the muscles surrounding even nearly two years later. It shattered on impact into a mess of bone and blood, leaving Graves immobile on the ruined catwalk and in too much pain to safely apparate away. The five minutes before his squad appeared had been the closest Graves had come to Gawain Chapel since Grindelwald. 

The healers told Graves that neither tibia nor fibula was salvageable. His best option was a newly redeveloped potion that could regrow bone from nothing once they Vanished the ruined shards. It did, however, take close to a week, so he was placed on medical leave and remained at the hospital. 

Sophie came to see him. “Enjoying your second stint as interim director?” Graves asked her drily. “Not quite as long as my suspension.”

“You’re not alright,” she told him. 

“... two shattered bones?”

“You practically asked Picquery to fire you after the Queenie Goldstein thing. You got suspended. You went ahead without backup when you knew how dangerous Bellemonte was. What happened to ‘we don’t get to make mistakes?’”

“Clearly I’ve grown old and short-tempered.” It wasn’t an answer, but he didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to smile through the wreckage until she was convinced he was fine. 

Sophie crossed her arms. “Show me your Patronus.”

“Sophie.” He knew why she was asking, knew what it would show, but it didn’t matter. He was tired and forgotten. He’d turned forty last month and felt even older. 

“Humor me.” She clearly wasn’t leaving until Graves did what she wanted. 

“ _Expecto Patronum._ ” Cortez had been partially right. Graves had a shitty year in 1926. While corporeal, his Patronus had lacked definition and grace. This time, the obscurus that swirled from his wand was velvety, mesmerizing, small sparks of power glinting in its depths. 

Sophie shook her head slowly. “Percival. Does he know? That you still…”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s in England or….god knows where, apparently he and Newt were in Egypt four months ago. It’ll be better for him if he leaves New York in the past where it belongs. This city hasn’t been kind to him.” The future belonged to Credence and Graves wouldn’t take it from him. 

“I don’t think you get to make that decision.” 

“I’m not telling him.”

“Martyr.” 

When Graves got back to work, the address book he left in his desk was in the wrong drawer. 

In 1929, MACUSA swore in a new President, since Picquery had served her traditional two terms. She’d suggested to her successor that Graves stay on as Director of Magical Law Enforcement, and Graves was still unsure if that was out of spite or gratitude. Though, on second thought, it may have been a final act of spite against Congress rather than Graves. He wore the scorpion collar pin to his confirmation hearings and every representative collectively groaned at the sight of him. Queenie Goldstein was not the only occasion in the past two years where Graves had told them they were fearful fools who hurt more than they helped. They’d confirmed him anyway. He was a Graves, after all, radical or not, and no one could deny his effectiveness or challenge his dedication when he’d personally lost so much to Grindelwald. 

 

April 16th of 1929 was one of the warm spring days that had every Auror unlucky enough to be on duty in the Woolworth Building asleep at their desk or trying to sneak out early. The dogwoods on Barclay Street were blooming and the canteen was empty. Everyone had preferred to bother with the hassle of No-Maj money and street food for the chance to lounge at the fountains in front of City Hall and enjoy the warmth. Even Graves was tempted, but there was still a stack of paperwork left from the last ICW meeting. 

Someone walked into his office. The door was unlocked, true, but all of his Aurors knew to knock. Graves spoke without looking. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“Someone told me once I never had to be afraid again.”

Graves’ heart skipped a beat and his head snapped up. Credence Barebone was standing in his office. Upright and tan with an easy smile and distractingly athletic build but _in his office_ and the momentary joy he felt was immediately eclipsed by equally heartstopping terror. 

“What in hell’s bells are you doing?” he hissed, grabbing his wand and standing. He caught Credence by the arm, intending to hustle him out of his office, out of the Woolworth Building, somewhere _safe_. 

Credence didn’t move.

Graves halted. The idea of Credence being strong enough to physically resist Graves moving him was another moment of cognitive dissonance. “ Credence. It’s not safe here,” he said and tugged at his arm again more lightly. 

“Yes, it is. And that’s the point.” Credence set down the thin brown leather satchel he was carrying and withdrew a handful of papers from them. There was a faint squeak and a hum from within the bag that Graves instantaneously recognized, even nearly two and a half years' later. “Check them.” 

Two British passports, one magical, one No-Maj, both slightly worn from use and each bearing Credence’s photo. In the moving photo, the small black and white version of the man was tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, with an uncertain half smile that Graves couldn’t help but echo. The documents didn’t bear the name _Credence Barebone_ of course, but another one-- 

“Daniel _Smoke_?” Graves arched an eyebrow.

“The Scamanders have a curious sense of humor.” 

The documents looked perfect; Graves couldn’t detect a single flaw. There was a CV, citing childhood illness and instruction by a private tutor rather than Hogwarts and a belated graduation, then two years of work as a research assistant for Mr. Newton Scamander. There was even a wand permit and a MACUSA visa, with an identification number starting with a F for a foreign born witch or wizard. All of the documents were lightly dusted with steel-blue fur. 

“Credence, there still are Legilimens here.” 

“Lucky I’m an Occlumens then,” Credence said drily and Graves instantly went to test his defenses. The younger man held still and made deliberate eye contact, making it easy. It should have made it easy. Graves had no natural talent for Legilimency; it had taken weeks for him to learn even how to conduct clarifying interviews, but everything situationally should have been in his favor. Eye contact, proximity, a relationship with the other man that had once been deeply intimate; he should at least have been able to find a crack somewhere, but he could sense was a mild series of thoughts about how beautiful a day it was. It was just another defense. Queenie Goldstein once had told Graves that his walls were ‘fancy steel,’ but Credence’s were a reinforced fortress. 

“How..” Graves leaned back against the narrow edge of his desk. He felt dizzy, almost. That had been exhausting and finding Credence to be so…inaccessible, such a stranger even to him was disconcerting in ways he didn’t want to think about it. 

“What did you think I spent two years doing? Besides forgetting you, apparently.” There was an edge of hurt, of anger to Credence’s voice. “I learned enough Occlumency to shield myself even from Queenie. I learned magic. Newt figured out that I needed to be the one to do some of the work to remove the obscurus. It wouldn’t attack itself.”

So Credence had need to be conscious and casting magic throughout all of that pain and Graves hadn’t been there. “You’ve done well for yourself. I’m glad.” He was. Credence safe, happy, free, with the papers, the Occlumency, the nerve to walk into the Woolworth Building and have no one recognize him. He just thought he’d feel...less old, less tired, less foolish. Less alone. 

“Are you going to ask me why I’m here?” Credence touched his arm, thumb resting down to rest in the crook of his elbow. Graves could feel the warmth of it through his shirt.

“Why are you here?” he echoed. The touch was distracting and he gripped the desk to keep from reaching for the younger man. 

“I need one last thing to make sure I’m safe. A Secret Keeper,” Credence said.

“A Fidelius Charm.” It was old magic, old enough that the Latin came from the spell. You could do it with an identity, bind Credence Barebone is Daniel Smoke into someone’s soul and warp reality to make it so. Only the Secret Keeper would be able to betray that knowledge. It would have to be a treason, too; no Imperius Curse, no torture could compel them. Graves glanced up. “You want…”

“I thought you’d forgotten me. I was about to ask Newt or Queenie when Theseus gave me Miss McIlvain’s letter,” Credence said and Graves wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle Sophie or thank her. “I want you to do it.” He gave a small, soft smile. “Keep me safe, Percival. One more time.”

“Of course,” Graves said. Confident and tan and strange and inaccessible or not, he was still Credence and Graves had still sworn it. As long as there was breath in his body, he would keep Credence safe. 

Credence’s hand moved from Graves’ elbow to cup his jaw, watching him for a long moment in total silence before he leaned down and kissed him. It was like no time had passed at all even as Graves felt every day of the nearly two and half years. Credence’s hair was the same when Graves ran his hand up Credence’s arm and touched it. It was dark waves, loose and silken but his arm had been muscled. Like always, Credence’s fingers immediately slid into and destroyed the slicked back central sweep of his hair, but the younger man kissed with an gentle assurance that was entirely new. 

“I’m glad,” Credence said when they broke apart slightly, though their foreheads were still touching. “I thought...I didn’t know now what I’d do if you’d said no.”

“I will always keep you safe,” Graves told him. “That hasn’t changed.” Credence’s hand was still in his hair, fingers moving lightly on his scalp and he closed his eyes. It felt like a daydream, like he’d fallen asleep in his office like half the other Aurors in the building and the warmth of the spring day had managed to keep him from nightmares. 

“Miss McIlvain wrote that you broke your shin again, that you’d gotten reckless, gotten suspended.” Her exact words had been _He still loves you and I think it’s killing him._ Credence had broken down and wept with a mix of regret, guilt and joy when Theseus had passed the letter onto him. 

“Got old. Stop caring what MACUSA thought.” Graves shrugged with a weak smile. “If they haven’t joined the twentieth century by now, I don’t think they’re going to.” He’d given the organization twenty-one years of his life and it still felt like he was swimming upstream against it sometimes. The feeling was getting harder and harder to compartmentalize, to go into work knowing they would call him a traitor if they knew what had happened two years ago, that some called him a dangerous radical for helping Queenie, that he’d lose his job if he ever talked openly about who he wanted as a partner. That they’d likely strip him of his right to be buried in Gawain Chapel. 

“You’ve been trying to fix that. Theseus gave me a copy of the Graves Protocol when the ICW passed it.” Credence touched his face. “I was proud of you.” Percival looked worn in a way that Credence wasn’t used to seeing. The grey had moved from his temples and undercut to thin silver lines in the central sweep. There was an alarming sense of defeat about him. He’d seen Percival exhausted before-- his last memory of the older man had been standing on the dock with him after he’d slept for perhaps five hours of the last sixty-- but this was disturbing. It was something had finally cracked in the unbreakable core of the man and he was suddenly glad that Miss McIlvain had written. 

“We should have had it thirty years ago,” Percival shook his head. “What happened to you should have never been allowed.”

Credence wanted to see the older man smile, see the crow’s feet that meant it was genuine. Credence touched his jaw. “Don’t think I would have the nerve to flirt with the Director of Magical Law Enforcement if I hadn’t passed out in his living room,” he teased gently. 

“Oh, I would have recruited you in a heartbeat. You would have been an Auror and on my team whether you liked it or not,” Percival murmured back and the smile was there, creeping up into his eyes, wrinkling the corners. 

“Well then. _Boss._ What’s my assignment?”

Percival laughed, though it was hoarse, like he wasn’t used to doing it. “Don’t tempt me,” he said. The grin was easy and open. The light of it took the wear from his face and Credence couldn’t help kissing him again. 

Graves let Credence control the kiss for the moment and slid a hand down the other man’s arm. It was too warm for a jacket so Credence wore only a white shirt and dove-grey vest over black pants. He could feel the muscle of his arm through it, the sleeve-garter of someone who worked with his hands. Credence’s teeth scraped lightly on his lower lip and Graves felt his pulse jump as he opened his mouth to let the other man inside. God, he’d missed this. Graves pulled at Credence’s shirt, untucking it to get his hands on his skin, slide over his side, the lower part of his ribs.  
Credence sighed a short breathy exhale at the touch of skin on skin. “I missed you,” he said against his lips. “I thought you’d forgotten me.” 

Graves shook his head. “Impossible,” he said. 

“Then why didn’t you write?” There was a flash of anger and hurt on Credence’s face and he looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” 

“Because you needed a chance to forget me,” Graves answered. “We got involved when you literally couldn’t leave my _house_ , Credence. Do you understand how wrong that is?”

“I don’t care about that.” 

“I do. I wasn’t going to tether you to a past you wanted to escape and a city that wasn’t safe. And then…” Graves hated how weak his voice sounded but he’d never been able to keep up pretenses with Credence. “I thought you’d forgotten me.” 

“I nearly had, you _idiot_.” Credence’s hands fisted in his shirt. “I thought you’d forgotten. I thought you’d realized that you could do better than a broken child who couldn’t--” 

“I love you.” Graves said and the words stunned Credence into silence. The hurt on Credence’s face, the way he talked about himself shook something loose inside Graves. Past and present blurred and merged and Credence was still the hesitant twenty-two year old who had kissed him like he might be damning them both. Credence didn’t get to talk like that, feel like that about himself. “You are not broken; you are not a child and I should have said it two years ago. I love you and I’m not letting go of you again now that I have you.” 

“Percival…” Credence said but nothing more. 

Graves looked to one side, not quite able to deal with the silence after having spoken so openly. Had he misjudged? Credence had walked into his office and kissed him, but he hadn’t actually asked for anything but a Fidelius Charm, anything but his soul. His skin crawled. “...I will be your Secret Keeper if that is all you want. I will keep you safe. But if that’s all you want, I would very much like you to let go of my shirt.” He wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t throw himself at Credence in some desperate lonely echo of something that was gone. 

Credence jerked like Graves had slapped him. “What do you think I’m here for?” His voice was hoarse with something like fury. “I walked into MACUSA and handed them my papers for inspection. Miss McIlvain introduced me to your President; I shook his hand and looked in his eyes. They issued me a _visa_. You think I did that for a spell? I’m here because I love you too and I’ll be damned if you send me away again because it’s not ‘safe.’ It is and I proved it and I’m not leaving again.” 

“Oh.” Graves’ eyes burned with tears. 

Credence leaned down, lips against his ear. “I love you. Tell me to stay.” His voice was clear. There was no coward’s way out, no way to feign lack of comprehension. 

This time, Percival Graves did as he was told. “Stay. Please, Credence. Stay.”

Credence kissed him, moving to stand between Graves’ legs. Graves slid his hands back to where they had been under Credence’s shirt. Both sides were untucked now and Credence shivered at the touch, pressing into it. He sucked on Graves’ lower lip and the faint tug of it made Graves’ heart skip a beat. He barely realized how much they had shifted until his back hit the desk and Credence’s knee knocked a stack of books onto the floor. They were being foolish; letting a former obscurial kiss you senseless on your desk in the middle of MACUSA headquarters definitely fell into the ‘reckless’ category that Sophie had chastised him about, but Credence was on top of him, pressed against him and Graves didn’t care. It was a moment’s thought to activate the wards on his office; the door sealed; a Silencing charm covered the room.

Graves hooked two fingers in Credence’s belt loop, keeping the younger man close. His hips pushed almost involuntarily, making the younger man shudder and fumble with the buttons on Graves’ vest. Graves arched to help Credence slid it off their shoulders and the movement ground their hips together.

“I missed you,” Credence gasped and he couldn’t help but roll his hips. Percival’s whine of need was an familiar pleasure and it made his mouth go dry with desire. He kissed a line down the older man’s throat and slid his tongue into the hollow at the base. 

“Shit, Credence,” Graves gasped. He was hardening already. It had been years; his brief and humiliating attempt to proposition Ethan Braddock had been the only time he’d tried to seek company since Credence had left. He reached for the younger man’s belt. 

“Here?” Credence asked, glancing up to show that he meant Graves’ office.

“Here,” Graves answered as he removed Credence’s belt. He didn’t care. It had been too long; the idea of stopping touching Credence was unbearable and there was something spitefully, erotically satisfying about flouting MACUSA like this. Graves’ belt went quickly as well and he noticed that a faint hint of anxiety still fluttered across Credence’s face. He touched the younger man’s cheek, pulling him back to the present. “I missed you too.” 

“Sorry. I...still...” Credence looked away, blushing. 

“Never apologize for that. Not to me. Not to anyone.” Graves turned Credence’s head back towards him and kissed him. 

“Yeah, boss,” Credence answered him, pushing the anxiety aside for the sheer pleasure of watching Percival blush as he thought a little too much about it. Credence kissed the corner of his mouth and then unfastened the older man’s pants before glancing up at him with a small mischievous grin. He went to his knees. 

“Credence…” Graves touched his hair. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” Credence answered. He took Graves into his mouth and the older man lost the ability to protest. Graves bit his lip to keep back a cry, a whimper; his nails dug into the wood of his desk. He knew the door was sealed; the room Silenced but the knowledge that there were still like Aurors going about their business just outside was simultaneously terrifying and erotic. 

It was almost disappointing-- the angle of this made it harder to see the look on Percival’s face, but the sound of surprise that turned into a moan, the way his nails bit into the desk made a shiver of desire course down his spine. God, he’d missed that sound. He’d missed Percival. 

“Shit, Credence,” he heard the other man gasp again, voice hoarse already.

He kissed the inside of his thigh and stood. “Don’t suppose you have…”

“No, that is not a thing that I keep in my _office,_ ” Graves answered. “It’s fine. Spit is fine.” They were too far gone now; the idea of taking his hands off Credence was unbearable. 

Credence went to put his fingers in his own mouth but Percival caught his wrist. “Let me.”  
Desire swirled in the base of Credence’s stomach as the older man dealt with two fingers at once. Percival’s tongue pushed between the two digits and touched the sensitive webbing underneath. His teeth scraped faintly over the pads of his fingers and let them roll off his bottom lip. His eyelids were half-closed in concentration and a few strands of his disheveled hair hung down in his face. It was the most erotic thing that Credence had ever seen. He swallowed and his mouth was dry with desire. He was aching against his half-open pants. As soon as Percival released his fingers, Credence replaced them with his mouth. He kissed him desperately, sucking on his lower lip as leaned the other man back on the desk. 

Graves went willingly, sliding a hand into Credence’s dark hair as the younger man carefully worked a finger inside. “God, I love you,” Credence said against his ear.

“Say it again,” Graves said softly even as he shifted into Credence’s probing fingers, helping him. How had he become so hollow, so needy? He’d been fine alone for so long, before a scared twenty-two year old appeared in his living room and desperately needed his help. Or maybe he hadn’t, and the brief light of Credence in his life had just reminded how dark it truly was. 

“I love you,” Credence said and Graves kissed him again before he he could say any more, feeling his throat tighten with emotion. 

Credence worked in a second finger, taking his time even though he already had the older man squirming. Graves started to pant against his mouth. “Please, Credence.” He buried his lips against the other man’s neck and slid his tongue over his collarbone. “Don’t tease. Not today.” 

“I just don't want to hurt you,” Credence answered. His voice was threaded with anxiety.

“You won't; it’s fine, please.” Graves dragged his teeth over his collarbone and the younger man relented with a soft noise of desire. Graves inhaled sharply as Credence shifted and moved, slowly pushing inside him. 

“God, you're gorgeous,” he breathed. Credence’s hair was just long enough that it hung slightly around his face in black waves. He was panting with desire, lips parted and his eyelids flickered with concentration.

He glanced up when Graves spoke and there was something both teasing and vulnerable on his face. “Still your gorgeous wonder?”

“Always,” Graves told him without hesitation. Credence let out a soft sound of relief and desire and started to move.

Graves’ head nearly hit the back of the desk at the sensation, the drag and the friction and he couldn’t help but arch and squirm into it. He had missed this, missed _Credence_ in more ways than he wanted to admit and he felt his eyes burn even as they moved together. He slid a hand up Credence’s untucked shirts, wanting the younger man’s skin under his hands, his warmth and solidity, the reassurance that this was real. There was already a stormfront brewing in his veins. 

Percival was hot around him and Credence caught himself on the desk with one hand, holding himself up over the older man as he panted. The other was holding Percival’s thigh and he knew he was leaving marks but the older man didn't seem to mind and Credence couldn’t get the grip to relax. It would be over too soon; he could feel it curling low in his stomach and he moved a hand from Percival’s thigh to wrap around him and leaned down to kiss him. His hand moved once, twice and then he felt Percival go over the edge, gasping against his mouth. The feeling of the older man coming apart around and under him, body shaking and arching was too much to bear and Credence lost himself in the other man with a cry. 

They stayed there for a long moment, hearts pounding. Graves left his eyes closed for a long indulgent moment, lingering in the aftermath, the slowly fading haze of pleasure. There was no rush. When he finally came back to himself, he was looking up at the vaulted ceiling of his office. There was a stack of books on the floor and if he tilted his head back a little further, he could see the magical threat level gauge on his desk, a miniature version of the one in the lobby. It currently stood at Level 2: Moderate Threat and Graves struggled to suppress the wave of laughter. “My fucking _desk_ , Credence,” he finally got out, grinning at the absurdity of it all.

“I’m not apologizing to furniture!” Credence protested but he couldn’t help laughing either, even as he helped Graves sit up. 

Graves loved the sound and pulled him close to kiss him one last time. “My goddamn miracle,” he said. “I love you. I should have said it two years ago.” He’d said it already, but it bore repeating. 

Credence smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of Graves’ face. “You didn’t have to. You proved it.” 

In the summer of 1929, Pickworth’s Publicities, an advertising company, hired a young wizard named Daniel Smoke as a file clerk. It was what his CV said he was suited for-- the skills of a research assistant translated well to compiling portfolios for clients and taking care of what the illustrators needed, but they quickly discovered that the young man had a talent for drawing and layout himself. It didn’t hurt to give him a chance, so Pickworth gave him an assignment for Callahan’s Charm Combs. Mr. Smoke produced a sketch of a vivacious blonde witch dancing to jitterbug music. Mid-spin, she fixed her hair in the mirror with a Callahan’s Charm Comb before falling back into her partner’s arms. _Why interrupt your night?_

Dragon Barrel Brandy bought a campaign from Pickworth’s and Smoke drew a fearsome looking Auror battling an unseen foe until the enchanted ink faded into the next panel, where the same Auror, a little worn, sat in a leather arm chair with a snifter in one hand. _Fire burning a little low?_

PIckworth promoted him officially to an illustrator. “It doesn’t say anywhere on your CV how good you are at this. And it’s so unique that you start freehand and only enchant it after. Most of my illustrators start right away with their wands. Where’d you pick it up?” 

Smoke had just shrugged and given him an easy smile. “Another life,” he said, then turned his attention back to the next campaign they were discussing. 

Sometimes, Aurors, Obliviators and the other members of the Magical Law Enforcement Division debated if Percival Graves had ever _really_ recovered from what Grindelwald had done to him. He had become the bane of Congress’s existence, challenging them on regular occasions when he felt a law was unjust. A particularly memorable instance had been concerning the Ban on Magical Beasts, when he'd set loose a particularly large and adorable steel-blue Puffskein in the lounge where Representative Vinaver's staff took their break. Sometimes he won and sometimes he didn’t. He worked as tirelessly as ever and expected the same level of dedication from his team. 

Those who knew him from before the incident argued that he seemed happier. Director Graves had never bothered going to department festivities. He went now. He smiled and talked and if you asked in just the right way, he could even be convinced to dance. He must have found _someone_ in the interim. You didn’t learn complicated spins like that without a partner somewhere to practice with. 

“But what about his Patronus?” someone always eventually asked. 

That was the sticking point. While the Director seemed healed in so many different ways, seemed _alive_ in ways he hadn’t before, Graves was still unable to summon a corporeal Patronus, the panther that Aurors knew he had called forth before. It remained a silver mist, though every Auror who had seen it agreed it had astonishing detail for an incorporeal Patronus. It was a graceful shifting cloud, glowing silvery white and shot through with sparks of fire and magic. Incorporeal or not, it was a thing of beauty. A thing of light. 

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, it's finished! Thank you so much for going on this ride with me. This is the first time I've done anything creative in awhile, so it means a lot to me that you all were so wonderful. 
> 
> Want to read Sophie's letter? http://archiveofourown.org/works/8791732/chapters/21452882  
> The fabulous leetleteapot made some fanart of the boys and their scars! Check it out! http://leetleteapot.tumblr.com/image/155968323895 
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments or hit me up at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/ Also, if you liked this and want to read a different take on Graves and Credence, I have the first chapter of an AU in which Grindelwald never comes to NYC, but Credence is a Scourer hunting wizards. Give it a try! http://archiveofourown.org/works/9481292/chapters/21453251

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] This Thing of Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054769) by [melinoe809](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melinoe809/pseuds/melinoe809)




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